Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty
by Dark Side Luke
Summary: The novelization of the game. Some parts changed to make sense in writing. Years after a massive oil spill, terrorists take over an environmental cleaning facility. It's up to a lone operative without any formal training to stop them.
1. The USS Discovery

Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty

The Novelization by Dark Side Luke

****

Disclaimer: I do not own the Metal Gear franchise; Konami does. I am only writing this for my entertainment and hopefully for others' as well.

A/N: I have never done anything like this before, so please be kind in your reviews. If you think it's terrible, then try to say so in the nicest possible manner. Please enjoy and always review.

"The Hudson River, two years ago. We had classified intelligence that a new Metal Gear was ready for transport. The whole thing stank…But our noses had been out in the cold too long."

~ Solid Snake

George Washington Bridge, New York

Thunder boomed and lightning flickered across a thick blanket of clouds. Rain fell by the bucket, splashing the cars on the long bridge below. Cars, their bright lights illuminating the road ahead of them, sped by, leaving trails of red lights and exhaust fumes. Many of the cars contained people heading home from a long day's work, or perhaps to a tavern where they could relax and unwind.

A man wearing a waterproof cloak walked along the side of the bridge, his hood pulled over his face, the only visible features from within the shadows were his intense green eyes, the tip of his strong nose and his jaw, which was clenched determinedly. A cigarette hung out of his mouth with smoke trailing off of its tip. He pulled one gloved hand out of the pocket of his cloak and grabbed the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. Casually, as if he had not a care in the world, he flicked the cigarette into oncoming traffic.

The man's eyes darted around, looking into the traffic, at the faces behind the windshields. None of the people driving by gave him so much as a glance. Satisfied, he started running, leaning forward slightly as if that action would give him more speed, would help him reach his destination faster.

He reached a pool of shadows and ran slightly faster. As he stepped into the darker regions of the shadow, he shrugged off his cloak, letting it fly away, floating away on the wind, into the traffic.

The man, however, disappeared.

All that was left of the man was a ghostly outline, running along the side of the bridge. He may not have been seen but he could be heard: his boots splashed into puddles and he was breathing quite loudly out of his mouth. The rain fell on him, outlining him, so only the observant could see him. Unexpectedly, with a grunt, he jumped off the bridge, a bungee cord attached to his belt. He sailed through the air gracefully, as if he were flying free. 

He began to fall, quite rapidly. Below him, he could see an oil tanker plow through the water. As he drew closer and closer to the tanker, his bungee cord grew taut and pulled him back up slightly. For the briefest of moments, he was visible to anyone who might be looking in that direction. He hoped no one was, since that would make him fail his mission before it even began. In the blink of an eye, he was invisible again.

He swung towards the upper deck of the tanker, the USS Discovery by name. His booted feet landed firmly on the deck's railing and he pushed himself away, rappelling down to the lower deck. Before his bungee cord grew taut again, pulling him back up towards the bridge, he released it, executing a backflip in one smooth maneuver.

He hit the deck hard, bending his knees to absorb to impact, falling forward slightly. His hands, on the deck, stopped him from falling on his face. Electricity shot out of his invisible body, snaking across the deck and up the walls, discharging energy, crackling loudly. Slowly, bit by bit, the man's body emerged into a solid form again, for the world to see. He wore a tight gray and black suit, which accentuated the muscles in his arms, legs and stomach. His hair, dark brown with some streaks of blonde poking through the dyed color was somewhat longer in the back than it was in the front, held back by a bandanna. The first stages of a beard were beginning to grow on the man's face, evidence that he cared little of his self-image. A silenced pistol was holstered on his right leg, above the knee. Pouches encircled his waist, with a few clinging to his chest.

He sat on the deck for a long moment, resting, letting the rain pour down on him, soaking and chilling him to the bone. He was Solid Snake, the hero of Shadow Moses, destroyer or Metal Gears – destructive, deadly, walking battle tanks. 

In the distance, high above the tanker and Snake, a helicopter flew by, the sound of its rotors disguised by the booming thunder. Inside, a man with white hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing combat fatigues, looked through a pair of binoculars, down on Snake. He held a revolver – a Colt Single Action Army – that he twirled on his finger, spinning it through the air with grace deceiving for such a deadly weapon. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

"Our boy," he said in a soft, slightly accented voice, "is right on schedule." He lowered the binoculars and nodded to himself. With a flourish, he holstered the revolver. "He'll know soon enough."

Snake rested on the deck for a moment longer before standing slowly. He looked up at the flickering lightning, letting the rain fall in cold drops upon his face. It felt refreshing, cleansing even. 

Snake heard the small sound of footsteps nearby and he rushed for cover behind a huge winch. When he reached it, making sure the coast was clear, he tapped the side of his neck, looking down at his wrist. A small, waterproof LCD screen was attached to the back of his wrist and it displayed a green line drawing of his surroundings, which he was receiving from satellites in the heavens above. The radar even gave him the locations of the personnel wandering the ship. Beside the radar screen, a young man's face appeared. He had long hair, glasses that covered blue eyes, supported by a smallish nose. He smiled when he saw Snake's image, which was sent to him via a small camera on Snake's wrist. 

"This is Snake," Snake said in his deep, rumbling voice. He didn't need to speak very loudly, since the microphone for his Codec – the communication device he was using – was planted directly into his lip. The entire Codec system – the batteries, the transmitter, the activation switch and even the speakers – were implanted in his body, in his bloodstream. "Do you read me, Otacon?"

The image of Hal Emmerich – also known as "Otacon" – nodded satisfactorily. "Loud and clear Snake," he said, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.

"Kept you waiting, huh?" Snake said, smirking slightly. "I'm at the 'sneak point.'"

"Everything's going okay?"

"The stealth camo's busted," Snake said, removing a chip, the size of his hand, from his belt. A crack ran down the center, splitting the silicon near in two. He tossed it on the deck with a clatter that was lost in a clap of thunder. "Landing impact," he added.

"We must have overused it," Otacon mused. "Sorry, but you're going to have to deal with it. You're not in the military anymore."

"Right. I didn't plan on relying on that gadget anyway." He glared at the broken chip, lying on the deck. He was too good to need stealth technology anyway, or so he figured. 

"The private sector's not so bad, is it?" Otacon said. "Privacy guaranteed…"

"I'm happy as long as no one gives me any more unwanted gifts," Snake muttered, almost to himself.

"You mean that thing with Naomi?"

"And I can't say I miss the chattering nanny."

Otacon chuckled slightly. "Mei Ling's not so bad," he said. "That reminds me, I need to get in touch with her again about that new Natik flashware."

Snake rolled his eyes. "Diverting toys from the SSCEN again? Give her a message from me: someone will find out sooner or later. She's better off assuming it's sooner and quit while she's safe."

Otacon nodded knowingly, as if he had faced that same predicament once or twice in his life. He probably has, Snake thought. "Too true," Otacon said. "Okay, Snake, let's get to work. You know the technical specs of Metal Gear were sold on the black market after Shadow Moses?" he asked.

Snake growled deep in his throat. "All Ocelot's doing…" he muttered.

Otacon nodded again. "Exactly. And now every state, group and dotcom has its own version of Metal Gear."

Snake shook his head, tossing droplets of rain from his hair and the tails of his bandanna. He had grown used to the cold, having lived in Alaska, so the wind did not bother him in the slightest. Being wet, however, did little to excite him. "Not exactly a classified weapon for today's nuclear powers," he said trying to ignore the small river of rainwater running down his back. He shifted his position slightly and the river began to flow over his shoulder.

"This new one seems to have been designed to wipe the floor with all the other models," Otacon said. "The only consistent description is that it's an amphibious, anti-Metal Gear vehicle."

Snake frowned slightly. _Amphibious_…? he thought. "I guess that explains why this one is under Marine Corps jurisdiction."

Otacon didn't comment. "The mission objective to make visual confirmation of the new Metal Gear being transported by that tanker and bring back photographic evidence. But, I want you to go to the top level of the infrastructure, to the bridge. We need to find out where the tanker is headed."

Snake peeked around the winch he was hiding behind and looked up at the bridge, which loomed high above him. He could see the dim silhouettes of men walking around the upper deck, flashlights in their hands. They looked like Will o' the Wisps. Snake smiled. "A little reconnaissance, huh?" he asked.

"There's too much we don't know about this new prototype," Otacon said. "Capabilities, deployment method…" he trailed off, looking at something offscreen. He shook his head sadly. "We don't even know how close it is to completion. If we know where the testing arena is, I can start to draw some reasonable conclusions."

"All right," Snake said. "I'll head up to the bridge, ASAP."

"Try to avoid confrontations," Otacon warned. "Our goal is to collect evidence on Metal Gear development and expose it to the world. It would be best if you could get out of there without alerting anyone."

"Don't worry," Snake assured his friend. "I know the drill – we're not terrorists."

"Very good," Otacon said, sounding like a teacher praising a student. Snake's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't you forget that you're a part of 'Philanthropy' now, an anti-Metal Gear organization and officially recognized by the UN."

Snake smile sardonically. "Recognized, but still fringe, Otacon."

Otacon shook his head slowly, sighing. "All right," he said, trying to get back on the subject at hand. "Let's take a look at your gear." Snake nodded in agreement, drawing the silenced pistol from its sturdy plastic holster. He hadn't had a chance to inspect it before he went to the George Washington bridge to hop down on the tanker. He took the opportunity to do so now.

"Your weapon is a tranquilizer gun converted from a Beretta M92F," Otacon informed him.

"M9," Snake mused to himself, turning the gun over in his hands. 

Otacon shrugged apologetically. "It's a little hard to work with because you have to reload after each shot since the slid locks."

"It's okay," Snake assured him. "It's better than scavenging on the mission site." He looked down at the silencer. "Good suppressor too."

"The chemical stun will take affect in a few seconds and last for hours. You can take down an elephant with that thing," Otacon said proudly. "Check out the laser sighting too."

Snake peeked around the winch to make sure no one was nearby. Satisfied, he turned away from the winch and aimed the M9 at the nearby wall. A small red laser pointer, attached under the gun's barrel, pointed whichever way the gun went. Snake aimed at a nearby light and squeezed the gun's trigger and shattered the glass, darkening a section of the wall. Glass tinkled onto the deck musically. Snake inspected the gun again and saw that, indeed, the slide was locked. He pulled back on it slightly and it came free, returning to its original position. 

"The effects of the anaesthetic rounds will vary depending on what target the body hits," Otacon was saying. "We're talking about a difference of tens of seconds between hitting the enemy's chest or head."

Snake nodded and holstered the pistol again. He reached into one of the pouches at his belt and removed a small square cardboard box, painted red and white. The word "Marlboro" was stenciled on the front.

"As for the equipment..." Otacon said than stopped, squinting at the screen ahead of him. Snake realized, too late, that he had been holding the box in front of the camera on his wrist. "Hey Snake, cigarettes? What's wrong with you?"

Snake smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of a lucky charm."

Otacon tsked, looking like a mother who had caught her son smoking, instead of a grown man. "You haven't read the Surgeon General's warning, have you?"

Snake rolled his eyes, deciding it would be better to put the cigarettes away than risk lighting one up while Otacon watched. He slid the box of smokes back into its pouch and pulled out a small, rectangular digital camera. He held the camera up for Otacon to see.

"That's the digital camera," Otacon informed him. Snake rolled his eyes again, since Otacon was stating the obvious. "It works the almost the same as your old one."

__

Yeah, since you broke it, Snake thought, remembering the time Otacon had taken it apart to "fix" it. He reached into the pouch again and produced a wire. He slid one of the wire's ends into a plug on the side of his radar screen and the other end he slid into the camera. He put the camera against his face, looking through the small eyehole. The camera focused automatically. Snake pointed the camera towards one of the faraway Marines, zooming in until the man, wearing a raincoat and carrying a flashlight, could be seen quite clearly. The Marine looked quite bored as he wandered the upper deck.

"They don't look armed," Snake murmured, more to himself. 

"Hey, Earth to Snake," Otacon said. "These are nice, upstanding Marines, not terrorists. Don't get caught," he warned, "you're in stealth mode here."

"Sure," Snake replied. "And if it comes to that, a little beauty sleep never hurt anyone." Snake hesitated before asking his next question. "By the way, Otacon, are you sure of this intelligence?"

"Absolutely. Hacked it out of the Pentagon's classified files myself."

Snake bit his lower lip. He hated computers. He had been a warrior his whole life – he didn't know anything else – and now wars were being fought digitally, over computer cables and modems. Not only that, but with one bad keystroke, the attacker could be traced right into his home. "No traces?" he asked, slightly worried.

"Oh please," Otacon said, rolling his eyes. "I'm too good for that."

__

I wonder… Snake thought. "But this might be a trap. Remember, there's a price on our heads."

"You're just being paranoid."

"I hope so." Snake tried to shake off the worried feeling, concentrating on the mission ahead of him. He looked back to the Marine wandering the deck above. "Those men," he said, changing the subject, "you wouldn't think they were anything but civilians from here."

"With all the ships passing on the river and in the harbor, putting uniformed Marines on the deck would be a bad idea," Otacon replied. "People can get a clear view of the water from Riverside too."

Snake looked over the railing, into the water. He frowned slightly, cocking his head to one side, thinking. "The waterline is too high…According to the navigational plans, this ship should've discharged its cargo upriver."

"It's in there," Otacon said. "No doubt about it."

"The military trains you to watch for threats on the stern of a boat. That's SOP for Marine counter-terror ops too. Security should be tighter."

"You worry too much." Otacon sighed.

Snake ignored him. "Where's the target?"

"Satellite surveillance is a major pastime these days." Snake arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "I'd say the cargo holds, safely below the deck. Can you see the entrance to the holds?"

Snake peeked around the winch again. He craned his neck and was finally able to see a watertight bulkhead next to a set of stairs. He looked up and could see another one on the upper deck. "Looks like there are few entries into the crew's quarters," he said. He opened his mouth to say more, but a sudden sound, overhead, stopped him and he listened intently.

"A chopper?" he said. "Wha – ?"

Snake looked up at the Marine wandering the above deck through the digital camera, zooming in until he could see every detail on the man. Nearby, behind the Marine, a shadow detached itself from the wall in the form of a man wearing brown combat fatigues and a black balaclava, wielding a knife. Snake blinked in sudden surprise as the newly arrived terrorist grabbed the Marine from behind and slid his knife across his throat. Blood leapt through the air, mingling with the falling rain. The Marine fell, twitching, to the cold deck.

Snake saw movement in the corner of his eye and swiveled the camera in that direction, where another Marine, just around the corner from his fallen friend, heard the sound of the body hit the deck. He cocked his head to one side and moved forward to investigate when another terrorist moved behind him stealthy. The terrorist kicked the Marine in the back of the leg, bringing him down to his knees. The terrorist then stabbed the Marine in the side of the neck, viciously twisting the knife before drawing it out of the body. Blood stained the front of the terrorist's uniform. Nearby, a small group of terrorists watched the murder, their eyes glowing red from the light of infrared goggles. 

The terrorists dragged the two corpses – along with a few others – to the railing, kicking open a gate and tossing the bodies into the river. Wordlessly, the terrorists signaled to each other, covered each other, taking over the tanker. Snake sighed in frustration, blowing a rain-drenched strand of hair away from his eyes. 

"Looks like we're not the only ones after Metal Gear tonight," he said.

"Is that a chopper I just heard?" Otacon asked.

"Affirmative. Probably another cavalry." Snake sighed again and shook his head. "What's their game? Hijack?" He looked down at the screen on his wrist, waiting for Otacon's answer.

Otacon looked at something offscreen, then shrugged helplessly. "They're probably after the ship's controls."

"Otacon, how many men do you need to take over a tanker of this size?"

Again, Otacon looked offscreen and Snake heard the tapping of fingers on a keyboard. "The ship is run by a computer, so…I'd say about eighteen people."

__

Computers, Snake mused, rolling his eyes. How he loathed them. He looked through the digital camera again, inspecting the terrorists clothing and weapons. He couldn't tell where they were from, but their weapons were familiar.

"AKS-74u?" Snake mumbled, zooming in on one of the men's rifles. He did not wish to be going against men armed with those. He moved the camera towards a group of terrorists, who seemed to be guarding someone talking on a radio. The man was large, in his late fifties and had gray hair, as well as a bristling mustache. He finished talking into the radio and handed it to a nearby soldier, who turned and walked away.

"Russians?" Snake wondered aloud.

"Are you sure?" Otacon asked.

"No Marine barber touched that head of hair."

The man reached behind him and produced a fur hat, which he pulled onto his head. He looked up into the rain, looking quite dignified. Quickly, Snake snapped a photo, sending it through the cable on the camera to Otacon.

"I'm transmitting a photo," Snake informed his partner. "Let's get an ID on him ASAP."

"I'm on it," Otacon assured him, tapping on the unseen keyboard.

Snake leaned against the winch, drenched and wet. Slowly, he stood and looked over his shoulder at the bridge on the upper deck. As he turned his head, he caught the sound of the helicopter again. He squinted, sorting through his memory banks, trying to distinguish that sound from hundreds of others he had collected over the years. After no more than a moment or two, he had it.

"KA-60, Kasatka," he said.

"Kasatka?" Otacon repeated. "Kamov chopper, right? 'Killer Whale'…" he mused. 

"We need to get a fix on who they are."

"Judging by their transport, aren't they some kind of military commandos?"

"Not necessarily," Snake said. "It could be the KA-62, the civil model."

"Look, Snake," Otacon said, trying to steer the conversation back to the original topic. "All we need is photographic evidence of Metal Gear. As long as we have those, we can put it online and blow the whole thing wide open. So no pyrotechnics, okay?"

Snake smiled. "All right," he said, "I'll do my best."

"This isn't like Shadow Moses," Otacon continued. "Reach me if anything happens. The frequency is 141.12."

"Got it," Snake said, nodding.

"I'll be waiting just past the Verrazano Bridge. You need to be off that ship by then."

"I'll be in touch." Snake cut the transmission by tapping the Codec's activation switch on his neck. Otacon's image on the LCD screen disappeared. Snake stood, peering through the rain to see if any of the terrorists were patrolling nearby. As an afterthought, he looked down at his radar and saw that there were no dots near his position.

He darted through the rain to the wall where he had shot out the light. He kept close to the wall, so that none of the terrorists above could easily see him if they looked down from the upper deck. When he reached the corner of the wall, he peeked around and saw a short flight of stairs leading to the upper deck. There was no one around, so he slipped around the corner, hiding behind the stairs.

Snake was about to turn the next corner – which would lead him to the closed bulkhead – when he saw light gleaming against the wet deck, shimmering in the falling rain. Snake pressed himself against the cold wall, hoping the guard would not continue and see him.

Much to Snake's pleasure, the terrorist stopped at the corner, his AKS-74u – which had a flashlight equipped under the barrel – pointed just beyond the wall so Snake could see it clearly. The gun moved left, right and then disappeared. Snake sighed in relief and stalked around the corner.

The terrorist guard had his back turned to Snake and was walking away. Snake drew his silenced tranquilizer gun and trained the laser on the back of the guard's head. He squeezed the trigger and a small dart thudded into the back of the man's balaclava. The guard quickly turned in surprise, catching a glimpse of Snake before sleep overcame him and he fell backwards with a groan. He hit the deck hard and soon began snoring contentedly.

Snake holstered the pistol and checked the guard's pulse. The first test of his M9 proved successful – the guard was asleep. Quickly, Snake glanced around, making sure there were no other guards about. Satisfied, he picked up the guard by the legs and began dragging him out of sight. 

Snake dragged the poor guard under the catwalk of the upper deck, where the rain couldn't reach him, before he saw a small gate in the railing. Acting quickly, before the guard's radio could begin asking about him or another terrorist happened upon him, Snake opened the gate.

"Sorry, buddy," Snake muttered to the dozing terrorist. "But you shouldn't be sleeping on the job." With that, he threw the guard overboard. Snake closed the gate, latching it securely.

Snake walked back to the closed bulkhead and grabbed the wheel firmly with two hands. With a high-pitched squeak, the wheel turned and unlocked. Snake pushed it open and quickly looked in the ship. There didn't seem to be any guards, so he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Just as he closed the door, he heard a voice with a thick Russian accent call through the wind and rain. "Borris?" the voice asked. "Why aren't you on patrol?"

Snake locked the door tight.


	2. Battle in the Rain

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Metal Gear franchise, nor any of its characters.  I am making no money on this project, and if I was I would still deny it.

A/N: Enjoy.

Snake turned from his task of locking the door and saw he was in a metal hallway. On his left, the hallway turned in front, and to his right the hall turned behind him. He didn't see or hear any threats from either direction, so he walked to the left, his rubber-soled shoes making little to no noise on the metal floor.

He peeked around the corner and saw a closed door, without a sentry. Snake walked to the door and put his gloved hands on the wheel, quickly turning it.

The wheel came off the door and into his hands.

Snake gasped in surprise and quickly looked around, as if expecting someone to yell at him and demand repairs. He stuck the wheel back into the door and turned it halfway. When he took his hands away, it stayed.

_Well, _he thought, _so much for the easy way._

Snake backtracked to the hallway, past the door he had come in through. When he reached the corner, he cautiously peeked his head around, looking for any signs of life. Canisters, firmly belted down to prevent them from coming free when the ship moved, lined one side of the hall, in a recessed part of the wall. Other than that, there were no distinguishing features, no signs of life. Snake quickly and quietly ran from one end of the short hall to the other.

The hall turned once again, but there were still no signs of life. Two doors were on the left-hand side of the hall. When he stepped near one, it opened automatically. Snake stuck his M9 into the room and did a quick sweep, but there was no one inside. He stepped inside and let the door close behind him automatically.

There were three rows of lockers in the room, two against the left and right walls and one in the middle, between them. Snake holstered his pistol and walked to one of the lockers along the left-hand wall, the one farthest from the automatic door. He opened it and his eyes widened in surprise. Taped to the inside of the locker was a picture of a Japanese model wearing a black bikini, her chest thrust out in front of her, displaying an excess amount of cleavage. Snake stared at the picture for a few moments before snapping back to reality, shaking his head to clear his mind. He tried to look inside the locker, to see if there were any items of interest, but his gaze kept straying towards the picture. Quickly, he closed the locker and walked away from it.

He checked each locker, disappointed to find only a few clips of M9 ammunition, which he stashed away in a few of the pouches on his chest and belt. He closed the final locker – which also contained a picture of a Japanese model that he promptly ignored – and frowned. He had hoped to find a new weapon, something that would come in handy should the going get tough. His M9 would be of little use in a firefight unless he could get a shot to his enemies' heads each time, which would be pretty difficult: these terrorists were pros and wouldn't be sticking out their heads unnecessarily. 

Snake drew his M9 again and stepped towards the automatic door. The door slid open, revealing a dull metal hall without any features. He crept out of the locker room and peeked around the corner.

More canisters lined the right side of the hall, as well as a small fire extinguisher. Right beside the extinguisher, was a man wearing the camouflage battle uniform of the terrorists stood, yawning through his balaclava. Snake pointed his M9 at the back of the sleepy soldier's head, the laser pointer indicating where Snake's aim was. Snake pulled the trigger and a small dart flew out of the pistol's suppressor, whistling through the air and striking the terrorist's head. The dart's momentum caused a plunger within to depress and let the contents mix with the man's bloodstream. He was asleep before he even realized what had happened.

Now Snake was faced with a problem. What to do with the body? He couldn't leave the man and allow another terrorist to stumble over him, putting the tanker on full alert. Snake holstered his M9 and approached the sleeping soldier, who was snoring softly. He stared at the soldier – who was sleeping on his face – for a long moment before an idea finally hit him. 

~*~

Snake closed the locker door and grinned, hearing the terrorist's snores echo from within the confines of the locker. _Necessity is the mother of invention,_ he thought to himself, leaving the locker room and heading down the hall. Every so often, he stopped and listened for any sounds of pursuit, the crackle of static and a voice on the sleeping soldier's radio…anything. 

Nothing.

Snake reached the end of the hall and peeked around the corner. His keen hearing had already told him no one was waiting, but seeing was believing and he didn't believe everything he heard. What if there was another intruder, like himself, waiting around the corner?

_That'll be the day, _Snake thought, turning the corner and looking at a bulkhead. He tried the wheel, but found it was locked tight. _When two operatives sneak into the same location.___

Around the next corner, there was an automatic door, which yielded to him. He stepped through it and drew his M9, pointing it ahead of him cautiously. He found himself in another small hallway, which turned to a flight of descending stairs. To Snake's left, there was a doorway. Snake pressed himself against the wall and peeked around the corner.

A crew lounge was just beyond the corner, which was being patrolled by a pacing terrorist and another tapping his foot while sitting on an ascending staircase. Snake watched the one terrorist pace back and forth, back and forth, without any signs of wanting to go elsewhere. The other terrorist stared at the floor, tapping his foot, his AKS-74u resting on his lap. Snake sighed and turned back to the featureless hall before him.

_Okay, _he thought. _Not an easy task, but I've faced worse. One guard on the stairs I need to get to, the other walking back and forth like an impatient man waiting for someone. I've faced worse._ Snake sighed again and leaned against the wall and tried to come up with a solution to the problem at hand.

As he thought, his hand strayed to one of the pouches at his belt, opening it and pulling out the pack of Marlboros within. He pulled one of the cigarettes out with his lips and replaced the pack to his pouch, pulling out his lighter. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, letting himself relax.

His Codec beeped in his inner ear, startling him, nearly making him drop his cigarette. He tapped the activation switch on his neck, looking down at the LCD screen on his wrist. Otacon's image appeared and he looked cross, his gaze narrowed on Snake. Snake arched an eyebrow, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth.

"Snake, are you smoking?" Otacon asked. "You really should quit." Snake opened his mouth to retort, but Otacon continued. "First of all, it turn you into an instant target in the dark. As for your health, I won't even go there. Remember what Naomi said about lung cancer rates? Everyone knows it a dangerous substance."

Snake removed the cigarette from his mouth and looked at the glowing tip, flicking the ashes from it. "So's war and I've been doing that all my life," he said casually. 

"Well," Otacon said, "you can screw up your own body if you like, but think about other people, okay?"

Snake smiled and placed the cigarette on his lips again, inhaling slowly. "This is the kind that has almost no second-hand smoke," he said, blowing the smoke out his nostrils. _Almost,_ he thought. "It won't bother anyone."

"Oh really? Didn't I see you toss the butt off the bridge? Littering, polluting…"

Snake's eyes shifted back and forth, like he had been caught in a lie. He opened his mouth to make a witty retort, but the only sound that came out was, "Umm…"

Otacon smiled as if he had proven his point. "You have a long way to go, my friend." His image disappeared from the screen and Snake dropped his hand, looking at his cigarette. He growled and tossed the smoke on the floor, stepping on it and grinding it under his heel. He still had a craving for a smoke, but he had come prepared for such an occasion. He reached into the pouch containing his cigarettes and pulled out a foil-wrapped piece of gum. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. It tasted like mint.

Snake looked around the corner once more, hoping to see the pacing guard somewhere else, but no such luck. He sighed once again and drew his M9, waiting for the pacing guard to turn around. When he did turn, Snake aimed the pistol's laser sight on the back of the guard's head, waiting for the moment to strike. When the guard was beyond the field of vision of his partner, Snake pulled back on the trigger, hearing the satisfying _ffphew_ as the tranquilizer left the chamber. The guard fell to his knees and then on his face, soundlessly much to Snake's relief.

Snake quietly stepped into the clean, brightly-lit hall and stalked towards the guard tapping his foot, sitting on the stairs. Snake tried to stay behind the guard's field of view and seemed to succeed; the terrorist took no note of him, so intent was his study of the floor in front of him.

_Sloppy, _Snake thought, taking another cautious step towards the unsuspecting guard. 

Snake reached the stairs' railing, slightly behind the terrorist. The guard was sitting right in the middle of the staircase, lost in his own little world, tapping his foot continuously. The tapping was beginning to grate on Snake's nerves. Cautiously, Snake placed his foot on the first stair, directly beside the guard.

The guard took no notice of Snake whatsoever.

Snake took another step, slowly climbing the staircase. After three or four steps, he was behind the guard, who was still tapping his foot. Snake grinned.

_I've still got it,_ he thought, deciding to leave the guard alone. He climbed the rest of the staircase, which branched into two, leading right and left, both ending with closed doors. On impulse, Snake chose the left staircase. The door opened automatically for him.

~*~

Snake slowly entered the bridge, his M9 held steadily in both hands, his eyes everywhere at once. A body, dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit, was slumped over a set of controls in the middle of the room. Blood pooled around the control set's base and the crewmember's feet, soaking the dead man's sneakers. Another crewmember, wearing the same type of orange jumpsuit, was crumpled on the ground nearby.

Snake ignored the two bodies and went to the large rain-swept window and the main set of controls beneath. Behind the falling rain, approaching the tanker quickly, were two helicopters carrying more terrorists. Snake narrowed his eyes as he watched the choppers approach, his eyes raking over every detail on the vehicle. Finally, he nodded to himself.

"So it is the Kasatka," he murmured. "Russian choppers."

The helicopters hovered over the tanker's deck as several uniformed soldiers rappelled down, securing the area. As soldiers from one helicopter went to the deck, their comrades in the second chopper watched them with a vigilant eye. If anyone were to attack those men, they would quickly be picked apart by those above. 

_These guys are pros,_ Snake thought.

Snake shook himself out of his watchful reverie and turned to the console before him. Carefully, almost hesitantly, he tapped a few commands into the keyboard and watched the monitor nearby display the ship's intended coordinates. No sooner had the coordinates shown, did Snake's Codec chirp.

Otacon's face appeared on Snake's wrist screen, his features mildly curious. "Snake, did you find out where the ship is headed?"

Snake nodded. "I'm looking at it," he replied, glancing at the monitor. "Thirty-five degrees longitude…latitude around fifty-eight."

Otacon looked thoughtful and he tapped a few commands into a computer unseen by Snake. "More than five hundred off the coast of the Bermudas, out in the middle of the Atlantic," he said. "So, the prototype is ready for solo-testing – it's basically combat-worthy. That area is outside the Second Fleet's operational range, too. It must be a stand-alone Marine Corps project – which means this prototype Metal Gear must be designed for independent deployment, without any naval assistance."

Snake tried not to roll his eyes. This information was useful – well, not _that_ useful – but it wasn't getting him any closer to completing his mission. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable among all these computers. Otacon had said that this ship was pretty much completely controlled by computers, so if Snake accidentally brushed against a keyboard, would he crash the tanker into New York? He shuddered.

Otacon's voice scattered his thoughts. "Anyway," he said, "Analysis can wait 'til later. Snake, you need to go down into the holds and locate the actual Metal – "

A grating sound outside the bridge broke off any more conversation, as Snake cut off the Codec and pointed his M9 at the bulkhead to the left of the way he came in. Out the window beside the bulkhead, he saw a person wearing a tank top and speaking into a radio. The person stepped behind a crate on the deck and disappeared from Snake's view.

Snake stalked to the window and looked out, but he could not see the person. Quickly, quietly, he opened the bulkhead and stepped out into the rain. Instantly, he was soaked to the skin.

He crouched low and kept his body behind a steel crate. Carefully, he peeked around the crate and saw the soldier he had spotted in the bridge. The soldier was wearing a military cap, baggy camouflage pants and a light green and white tank top, which was so soaked as to be almost translucent. Snake turned his head slightly to catch the soldier's voice over the sound of the wind and the rain. Instead, he heard the person on the other end of the radio.

"…Shalashaska has landed," the other person – a deep-voiced man with a thick Russian accent – said. "I'm on my way to the tanker holds. Report your status."

"Control room, communication and engine room are under control," the soldier said in a light, equally accented voice. "All entry and exit points to the tanker holds secured. Infrared sensors placed and operational."

"Good work," the man said. "Are the explosives in place?"

"Yes they're all planted."

Snake had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Infrared sensors and explosives? This could be bad… He continued to listen.

"Listen," the man on the radio said, "once we have what we came for, the tanker will be scuttled."

"And the vehicle's pilot?" the soldier asked.

"He's the only one who underwent the VR training. No one else can do it."

"Are you sure you can trust him?"

"Your part in the mission is complete!" the man said, ignoring her question. "You are to leave at once!" His voice sounded like that of a parent talking down to a child. That's not how a superior officer speaks to a solider, Snake mused.

"No!" the soldier replied and Snake shot up an eyebrow. "It's not over yet!"

"I can see the moon…even in this storm," the man said, continuing to ignore the soldier. "Pale as death. I have a bad feeling about this mission. You swore this to me; that you would leave the unit, once the mission was complete! Do not worry, this is a country of liberty, and justice for all."

"This is where I belong…" the soldier murmured, sounding defeated. "…With the unit." He took out his gun and examined it, its sleek silvery metal glittering coldly in the cloud-veiled moonlight. "I have nowhere else to go!" he added, more forcibly. "Father," he said, confirming Snake's earlier suspicions, "I want to fight together."

"There is no choice to make here, Olga!" the man said, near shouting. "Need I remind you that you're carrying my grandchild?"

Snake arched both eyebrows in surprise as the soldier put both hands on his stomach. _Okay…_ Snake thought. 

"You will be on the helicopter, out of here, now!" the man said. The radio clicked loudly as he shut off his handset.

"Damn it," the soldier muttered.

Snake's sensitive ears caught the sound of a helicopter's rotors over the wind and the rain and he immediately went still, trying to veil himself in the shadows of the steel crate so the helicopter, which had a better viewpoint than the soldier, would not spot him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldier named Olga wave the helicopter away. After a moment, the helicopter turned away, heading to the other side of the massive tanker.

Snake seized the opportunity and leapt out from behind the crate, his M9 pointed at the soldier's head. The laser sight touched upon Olga's ear momentarily.

"Freeze!" Snake barked. "Hands over your head!"

Slowly, the soldier put his hands over his head, turning to face Snake. The soldier had a delicate bone structure on his face. Snake finally realized that this soldier was no man.

"A woman?" he blurted out loud. _I've been in the field for far too long,_ he thought, shaking his head minutely. "Show your face!" he said to hide his shock.

"You men," she said, her voice thick with its Russian accent, "you're all the same."

"Who are you?" Snake demanded.

Slowly, she took off her hat. "We are nomads," the woman named Olga said. "Wanderers." She let go of the cap and it floated on the wind, towards Snake. Hoping that the hat would distract Snake, Olga stepped to the side, towards a tarp-covered set of shelves, covered with tools. Snake tensed and leaned forward.

"I said don't move!" he barked. She stopped her attempt at escape and a slow smile crept over her face.

"Americans," she said in a condescending tone. "So you shoot women too?"

"I'm a nomad too," Snake replied with a completely straight face. She laughed and he looked her up and down. _Yeah,_ he thought. _She's a woman all right._ His eyes suddenly stopped on a knife sheathed at her belt. "What else do you have there?" he asked, pointing at the knife. "Take the knife and toss it." He gestured to the railing with a nod of his head.

Slowly, she drew the knife and belt over to place it on the rain-swept deck in front of her. The hilt of the blade was pointed towards Snake.

"Not there," Snake told her firmly. "Toss it overboard." She hesitated. "Hold that position. Now, turn around."

She smiled faintly. "You know what you're doing," she complimented.

Suddenly, the tanker jerked violently and Snake struggled to maintain his position, but he bumped against the railing nonetheless. Olga, however, only bent over, maintaining a subtle balance. When Snake re-trained his aim on her, the rain had stopped and the clouds parted, revealing the full moon. Olga was silhouetted by the moon's pale face. She looked around at her surroundings, looking genuinely interested at the cityscape beyond the railing.

"It's stopped raining," she observed. She gestured to the cityscape. "Not too shabby, is it? New York I mean."

In a blur of movement, Olga flipped the knife around and bullet shot out from the hilt, directly towards Snake. Snake twisted to the side and felt the bullet's passing along his cheek. When he turned back to Olga, she had pulled a pistol out from the waistband of her trousers. Before Snake could get a good shot at her, she dodged behind the tarp-covered shelves. Snake cursed himself for a fool.

"And that brings our tour to its conclusion!" she said as the rain started to fall again.

Snake dodged behind the steel crate again, still cursing. When he finished, he said, "Scout knife with a surprise…you a Spetsnaz?" 

She did not answer him. Instead, she said, "I think you deserve a little credit; no one's ever dodged that shot of mine! But no one gets lucky twice, either!"

"We'll see about that," Snake muttered. He spit out the piece of gum in his mouth – it had lost its flavor long ago – and concentrated on the impending fight.

Bullets ricocheted against the steel crate soon after the loud bang of gunfire. Snake cautiously peeked around the crate, peering through the falling rain. He caught a glimpse of Olga ducking behind a crate similar to the one he hid behind. Over the sound of the whipping wind and rain, he heard her speak.

"I've been with the unit since I was born!" she proclaimed. She pulled the clip from her gun and replaced it with a fresh one. "I grew up on the battlefield. Conflict and victory were my parents! The unit is my life, my family. We've shared everything – all the bad and all the good. I have no one, nothing except the unit. Nothing else matters to me. Whoever you are, you're not stopping us!"

_Grade A psychopath_, Snake thought. _Like so many before her._ He leapt up and trained his aim on the crate Olga hid behind, waiting for her to come out. He didn't have to wait long. Olga hopped up, her gun's flashlight illuminating the area ahead of her and signaling her location like a beacon. Snake couldn't tell what kind of gun it was; the light hid any distinctive features. He pulled the M9's trigger and saw a puff of red mist bloom from Olga's arm. He ducked behind the crate before she could get a shot off.

_Winged her,_ he thought, pulling back the slide of his M9. It clicked into place, ready to be fired again. He hoped the dart had released some of its sleeping potion into her bloodstream.

It was barely audible, but he thought he heard Olga say something over the roar of the wind and the whipping rain. It was barely audible, but he still managed to catch it.

"Take this!"

A _thump_ to his left made him look in that direction. A flash of lightning illuminated the rain-swept deck and gave Snake enough light to see what had fallen beside him.

A grenade.

Snake leapt into action, getting to his feet, realizing there wasn't enough time, rolling forward behind another crate. He was aware of a trail of bullets smacking into the deck behind him, but his main concern was the grenade's inevitable explosion.

He just completed his forward roll when the blast knocked him down on his stomach. He lay there, stunned, for several moments, the rain slapping his skin, the wind chilling him to the bone until the sound of gunfire brought him back to his senses. There was a battle, he remembered, his thoughts coming slowly to the surface of his mind, and he was an active participant. He got to his feet and peeked over the edge of the crate that sheltered him. 

Olga was there, looking over her own crate, looking for Snake. Their eyes met and, simultaneously, they rose to their feet, guns cocked and aimed at each other.

Later, Snake would curse Mother Nature for fouling his aim, but then praise her for saving his life. A strong wind pushed the entire ship over one or two degrees which was just enough to force the warriors to shift their feet to regain their balance at the same moment they pulled the triggers on their weapons. Snake's dart zipped past Olga's head and her bullet slipped between Snake's raised elbow and torso. Before she could get another shot off, Snake dove for the deck, cursing all the while.

Snake ran – or at least tried to, as he had to remain behind the waist-high shelter of the crates – to a new hiding spot as Olga cartwheeled to the safety of a man-high locker bolted down to the deck. She poked her head out to the right, looking for Snake.

Snake stood, but was not in Olga's field of view. His M9's laser sight was trained on the woman's back, right between her shoulder blades. His dart would make a lovely decoration there, he thought with a grim smile. He pulled the trigger.

_Click._

He looked down at his gun in shock and surprise. _He had forgotten to unlock the slide! _He placed a hand on the gun to do just that when Olga turned and saw him. Her gun's flashlight pointed directly at him, blinded him, but he fell to the deck at the first bullet left the chamber. It grazed against Snake's left bicep and drew blood that stained the deck but was quickly swept away by the rain. Again, he cursed.

_Time to finish this,_ he thought, unlocking the M9's troublesome slide. He moved back to the charred piece of the deck where the grenade had landed. He hoped Olga remained where she was. He didn't want to waste time looking for her.

Boldly, he stood, quickly sweeping his M9 back and forth. Olga must have thought Snake was in his previous location, because she craned her neck around the locker to look there. Snake didn't waste any time. He pulled back on the trigger and watched as a tiny dart protruded from Olga's back. She lurched forward in surprise, one of her hands reaching behind her to see what had happened, but by then it was too late. The chemical had entered her bloodstream and Snake watched as it began to take effect.

She turned, raised her pistol in one hand to point it at Snake, but her strength failed her. Her arm dropped and she took a shaky step backwards. She leaned heavily on the locker before her knees buckled violently and she fell, her back propped up against the cool steel bolted to the deck.

It was over.


	3. Shootout in the Hall

****

Disclaimer: Konami owns the rights to Metal Gear and all of its corresponding characters. I'm just writing this until I get an idea for an original plot. I might be here for a while…

Snake warily approached the inert form that was Olga, who was leaning against the bolted down locker, his M9 thrust out before him. The rain continued to fall, soaking both of the warriors, but Olga didn't so much as flinch, despite the thin clothing she wore. Snake doubted anyone could fake sleeping in this weather, but still…

He reached a hand out to prod the woman into waking, to test if she was really asleep or just playing, but before his hand could come within an inch of her chilled skin, she flopped over onto her side and a small snore escaped her. She was definitely asleep. He holstered his M9, confident that there would be no surprises.

Snake squatted down beside her and picked up the gun beside her body. It was a light-equipped USP, a 9mm handgun with a flashlight mounted under the barrel. The slide was locked back, showing an empty breach. It was unloaded. A quick check on Olga showed she did not possess any extra clips. He unlocked the slide and stood up.

"Hmm…" Snake muttered, looking over the gun once more. If he could find some ammo – 

His thoughts were scattered as a buzzing sound and a motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked around, but there was nothing, so he looked up and saw it.

"It" was a floating satellite-type craft. Its body was a flat circle with a fan inside to keep it off the ground. Four sticks on the body joined at a point, holding up a camera that looked suspiciously like a robotic head, swiveling back and forth, eyeing him with one ocular lens. Snake was suddenly reminded of a creature in one of Otacon's odd Japanese cartoons.

Snake was so surprised at seeing this floating robot that he didn't immediately recognize it. After a moment, it clicked in and he blurted the name out loud.

"Cypher?" he nearly yelled in his shock. 

The Cypher eyed Snake with its camera head and Snake could only stare back. His newly acquired USP was out of ammunition and his M9 would not be able to shoot the remote-operated machine out of the air. He was at a loss for what to do, except to stare boldly into its lens. Whoever was watching him through that lens would have a good view of his face…

The Cypher suddenly shot up into the air with the whirring of insect wings and was soon lost in the night storm.

Snake shook his head, flinging droplets of water from his hair and bandanna. Not knowing what else to do – that made him uncomfortable – he called Otacon. He must have been expecting the call, because he was looking directly into the camera when he answered.

"Otacon," Snake said, "the ship appears to be under their control. Then men have Russian gear, but I haven't been able to find out anything else about their origin."

"I know who they are," Otacon said, his voice flat, unemotional. Snake squinted in concern. His friend sounded serious.

"You do?"

"We've ID'd the old man."

__

Get on with it, Snake thought irritably. _I'm tired of standing in the rain._ "Who is he?"

"Sergei Gurlukovich."

Snake's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Aside from Liquid Snake, that was one name he did not want to hear. Not now. "Gurlukovich? One of Ocelot's allies?"

Otacon nodded sadly. "Yeah…the GRU colonel. He's the one Ocelot was supposed to meet up with after Shadow Moses…"

Snake tried not to think about those times. The very name of the Alaskan island sent shivers down his back. There would be only one reason the colonel was here. "They're after Metal Gear…"

"Everything's changed," Otacon said, worry in his voice. "This is not going to be as simple as we thought."

__

Nothing's simple, Snake thought. "You could say that. I saw a surveillance remote just now. It looked like a Cypher."

Otacon seemed to think on that for a moment. "A Marine Cypher-T?" he asked at last.

Snake shook his head. "No, Army."

"First the Marines, then the Russians…now the Army?" Otacon asked incredulously. 

Snake nodded. "You're right. This isn't going to be simple."

"Snake," Otacon said after another moment. His voice took on that unemotional tone once more and Snake immediately knew it was serious business about to be discussed. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

"We didn't dig up this info – about the new Metal Gear – on our own, not like usual."

"How did you find out then?" Snake had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach and that single uncomfortable feeling took precedence over all others. He forgot about the rain, the cold, and the blood running down his arm from the bullet Olga had fired at him.

"It was a tip," Otacon said. He took a deep breath. "An anonymous tip."

"Anonymous?" Snake asked, flabbergasted. "You've never trusted those before, why start now?" _I thought you were smarter than that_.

"I, ah, have a younger sister. A stepsister. We have different parents. I only knew her for two years."

__

Where's he going with this? "You've never mentioned her before. So…?"

"The sender of the tip was 'E.E.' " 

" 'E.E.'?" Snake repeated. _What's the deal? Get on with it!_

"Her name is Emma, but I always called her E.E." Otacon seemed to be drifting out to his own little world of happy memories. 

"Emma Emmerich?" Snake asked with a perfectly straight face.

"Yeah. It just caught my eye, you know?" Otacon seemed to be trying to ask for forgiveness. While he was Snake's friend, Snake wasn't sure he _could_ forgive him. Anonymous tips were bad news, always were and probably always would be. If he had known beforehand…

__

I'd probably still be here, he thought. He knew he couldn't risk leaving a Metal Gear untouched, especially one made by the Marines. And now that the Russians were here, he knew for a fact that the Metal Gear existed. The only thing he could do now was to go forward – it was the only thing he _would _do. 

"I figured it was a coincidence," Otacon was saying, "but I couldn't get it out of my mind. There's no one there who really knows about her."

Snake shook his head. There was nothing he could really say to help the situation. "When was the last time you saw her?" he asked instead.

"Over ten years ago," was the response.

"You think it's a trap?"

"I don't know." Otacon shrugged. "After I got the tip, I did break into the Pentagon system to get confirmation."

That was comforting. "Okay…" Snake murmured. 

"Watch your back Snake," his friend warned. "Maybe I screwed up…"

Self-pity wasn't going to get Snake through this mission, especially not now. He decided to quickly change the subject. "I've got a light-equipped USP; I can take them on now. There's no ammo, but it takes 9mm rounds, just like the Marines' M9. I'll find those around here somewhere."

Otacon seemed to perk up a little. "Don't raise too much of a racket with that thing."

Snake smiled, glad to help his friend. "I hear you." He turned off the Codec with a quick tap on his neck.

~*~

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

Snake slapped at the Codec activation switch as he might have slapped at a mosquito. He looked into the camera on his wrist and saw Otacon's smiling face looking back at him. Snake didn't feel like smiling at that moment.

"Snake," Otacon said in greeting, "you of course know the saying 'One for all, all for one.' "

"What is this all of a sudden?" Snake said in a hoarse whisper. He moved his head a fraction of an inch and was able to see around the corner of his little alcove.

"Oh, I figured you'd need a lot of motivation, so I can prepared. It's from 'The Three Musketeers' – the book, not the candy bar."

Snake rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," Otacon continued, "it means that if you go up against everyone yourself, they'll gang up on you too." He paused and looked at something offscreen. "I think. Since you're on your own on that ship, you need to take this to heart and avoid confrontations." His grin became broad and he beamed at Snake. "How was that? Just like the old days, huh?"

"Almost reminds me of Mei Ling," Snake said in his whispered tone. "But…are you sure you got it right?"

"Of course! And I'll teach you a lot more of these. You can count on it."

"Great…" Snake switched off the Codec once more. He was beginning to regret cheering up his friend.

Snake peeked out of his alcove once more, looking up the stairs. The engine room was a riot of noise, mostly the engines laboring to push the enormous tanker through the water, but there was the odd voice as well. From his hiding spot, he could see moving lights as well.

__

All because of one stupid guard, Snake thought, his hands sweaty inside of his gloves as they held the USP – now ready with ammo he had found. Of course, Snake had been somewhat reckless, climbing the nearby stairs without first doing some reconnaissance first. The guard had his back turned when Snake had climbed the stairs, but quickly turned around when Snake bumped into him.

From there, it turned to chaos.

The guard had radioed for backup and it arrived in the form of shock troops wielding Plexiglas shields and shotguns. Snake had shot one guard – the guard who he had bumped into -- before moving from hiding spot to hiding spot, finally ending up back at the stairs. 

Snake sighed and popped another piece of gum in his mouth. The mint flavor did little to calm his nerves.

After what seemed like an eternity – in actuality, it was little more than a few minutes – the backup shock troops dissipated and the guard Snake had shot was replaced…after the body had been dragged away. A pool of blood remained however. The other guards – Snake could see them across the engine room, on catwalks – remained on high alert, much to his disgust. At least he was on the right side and wouldn't have to cross the paths of those men. 

He waited a few more moments before stealthily climbing the stairs. The new guard had his back turned and Snake crept up behind him. In but a few moments, Snake had his arm around the guard's throat, his free hand on his chin and he quickly, silently, snapped his neck. He hid the body in the alcove he had previously inhabited. 

The stairs led up to a catwalk and the catwalk led to an automatic door. Snake quickly ducked inside the door and saw another door in front of him, across a right-turning hallway. This door would not open, not that Snake wanted to go in there anyway. More than likely, this door led to the top of the ship again. He had taken enough time getting into the bowels of the ship to take a detour back up top. He moved down the hall.

The hall took a corner, leading to some type of maintenance room, as far as Snake could tell. Machines lined the middle of the room and lockers sat at the opposite end from where Snake stood. The lockers were decorated with two posters: one of a woman, the other of a man. Both were reaching out to each other and it appeared that they were holding hands. Beside the lockers, there was another hall. He took a step towards the hall when a harsh screeching stopped him. He leaned against the wall and peered around the corner.

The door that wouldn't open before did just that – opened. A Russian terrorist stepped out and pulled out his radio. Snake couldn't hear what he said, but he didn't care. The Russian put his radio away and turned towards Snake.

Snake ran to the lockers, opening one and getting inside at the same instant the terrorist turned the corner. Snake could see through the grill in the locker, which was at eye-level. He hoped it was too dark in the locker for the guard to see him. The guard drew closer and closer until he stood right in front of the locker.

Snake thought he was going to have a heart attack. His heart beat a million times a minute. It was a wonder the terrorist didn't hear it. Snake held his gun in both hands, ready to shoot through the locker if need be.

The terrorist turned and walked back to the hall, turned the corner and went out to the engine room. Snake breathed a sigh of relief. After a moment, he realized he had swallowed his gum.

__

I'm getting too old for this, he thought, leaving the locker and closing the door behind him. He moved to the hallway – he could see a bulkhead at the end of it – when his Codec beeped.

__

Better not be another proverb, he thought, activating his radio. Before he could make a witty remark, however, Otacon spoke.

"Snake, there's a set of infrared sensors in place," he said. "If you touch that, the explosives will detonate and that ship will be pulverized."

Snake examined the sides of the hall and saw three sets of infrared sensors on either side. Next to one of the sensors, there was a box labeled SEMTEX, an explosive much like C4. Snake remembered hearing Olga talking about the infrared sensors before their fight. This must have been where she was referring to. 

"I'm not in the mood to go sleep with the fishes, but…" Snake said, looking at the sensors and their lethal explosives. He shook his head. "There are too many sensors. Looks like I'll have to find another way."

"No need to worry," Otacon reassured him. "There's a way through. Take a close look – do you see the thing with the blinking green lights next to the explosives?" Snake looked and, indeed, there was a small computer with a flashing green light right beside the SEMTEX. "That's the control unit for the sensors. Destroy that and the sensors stop functioning. You can't get close enough to touch it, so you'll have to shoot it out."

Snake nodded and reached for his M9, which he had placed in the back of his belt so he could holster the USP.

"But the M9's rounds won't work," Otacon continued and Snake froze. "The USP you picked up should do the trick. Use that gun." Otacon's face disappeared from the screen, to be replaced with the wire-frame radar screen. A digital clock sat above the radar and the hour was well past midnight. Snake was behind schedule.

Snake hated to have to use up his precious stores of ammo, but there was no choice. In three well-aimed shots, Snake took out the control units for the sensors. He walked to the bulkhead and turned the wheel easily. The door swung inward, revealing a service passage to the cargo holds. The passage was ill lit with only a few bare bulbs set in the ceiling as bugs circled them, occasionally bumping into them with a _tink-tink_ sound. 

The shadows were Snake's friends. They helped him when he was all alone, kept him safe from prying eyes and bullets. The only other thing that would help him so much on a mission was his best friend…the cardboard box. He smiled at the memories.

Back to the present. He moved into the hall and took two steps before speakers set in the wall blared in announcement. 

"Verrazano Bridge checkpoint passed," the male voice emitting from the speakers announced to the ship. It was American, which made Snake believe that not everyone on board the ship had been murdered.

__

Well of course not, Snake thought. _This ship would be on its way to Russia if all of the Marines were dead._

"All non-essential personnel report to the holds in ten minutes time for the scheduled briefing session with the Commandant. You are ordered to continue manning your posts until that time."

__

That's me, Snake thought, replacing the clip in his USP. He holstered the weapon and stealthily moved down the hallway. He thought he had spotted someone moving ahead and didn't want the entire ship to know where he was…like last time. His hand strayed to the M9 at his back.

There was only one guard ahead. One dart to use. He fell on his face and immediately started to snore. Snake stepped over him and proceeded down the hall.

He heard the muted, muffled sound of rock music before the next terrorist rounded the corner. The guard was so intent on his own little world that he was totally oblivious that Snake was pointing his M9 at his head. In fact, the guard started nodding his head in time with the music and using his AKS-74u as a guitar. Snake nearly doubled over laughing. He quickly shot the man before his loud guffaws could alert other guards.

The hall turned and Snake turned with it. Bulkheads lined one side of the wall, which was decorated with steam pipes and wires. As before, Snake heard the guard before seeing him. This time it was snoring that gave him away.

Snake cautiously approached and used a bulkhead frame for cover and then peeked around. Sure enough, there was a guard standing there, against the pipe-laden wall…standing and sleeping. Every so often he would perk up and mutter to himself, but within moments he was asleep again. Snake couldn't risk it. He shot this man as well. His sleep was untroubled now and his snoring seemed more content.

Snake stepped around the sleeping guard and up to a closed bulkhead. The wheel turned and the door swung inward. In moments, he was in another hall.

There was no one ahead as far as he could see, but he continued to move cautiously. He looked at the M9 in his hands and quickly exchanged it for the USP. He had a gut feeling that he would need it in the minutes to come and as a soldier, he always listened to his gut. It had saved him on too many occasions to count.

There were crates ahead, next to an alcove, within which there was a closed bulkhead. Creaking from the alcove made Snake snap up his gun and point it ahead of him. More creaking, like the turning of a rusty wheel – the wheel on a bulkhead, perhaps – made him crouch on one knee, his aim steady ahead of him.

This was no good, he thought. He was a sitting duck here. He dove behind the crate at the same instant the bulkhead opened and three enemy soldiers rushed in. One took point and swept the area while a second secured the area by the door. The third covered the rear, making sure there were no followers. The one on point emerged into the hall and looked up and down its shadowy length. 

Snake couldn't see him, but the second soldier pulled a radio from his belt and spoke into it.

"Colonel," he said, his voice accented like all the other soldiers, "we've sealed the stern hatch."

"All right," was the reply. Snake recognized that voice as the one Olga was talking to. So, that was Gurlukovich.

"The lift is also under our control," the soldier said.

"We're on the foredeck, about to descend into the holds."

"Sir, the Marine commander has started his speech already."

Snake looked at the clock over his radar. Indeed, twelve minutes had passed since the announcement had been made. 

__

Time flies when you're having fun, Snake thought with a grimace. Getting past these guards would not be fun…or easy.

"We will complete the preparations before the end of the speech," Gurlukovich said.

"All communications to the holds have been severed," the guard said. "No one is aware of our presence."

"Let no one down into the holds until we are out."

"Yes sir," the soldier said. "We will secure your exit, with our lives if necessary."

"There is one more thing…" The Colonel had a slightly embarrassed tone to his voice.

The soldier looked at the one guard who had been covering their rear. "Yes sir?" he said.

"My daughter…keep her safe."

The two soldiers nodded to each other. "Yes sir." He turned off his radio.

Snake leaned against the crate he was hiding behind and tried to come up with a plan to get around these soldiers. He could think of nothing. He accidentally let out a sigh of frustration and immediately regretted it.

"Who goes there?" one of the guards shouted.

Snake wouldn't let them get the upper hand – he _couldn't._ He poked his head over the crate and began firing with his USP, scattering the soldiers, and confining them to alcoves on either side of the hall. Just as he ducked his head behind the crate again, one of the soldiers fired with his AKS-74u, putting bullets into the steel crate. 

Snake crouched and pivoted around the side of the crate, firing wildly, his gun's flashlight and muzzle flash lighting up the area all around him, exposing the terrorists. One of his bullets smacked into a pipe and steam exploded outward, covering a guard in white-hot vapor. The man screamed, spouting Russian curses and ran into the hall to escape the fury of the steam. Another one of Snake's bullets caught him in his head and he toppled forward, dead. Snake ducked behind cover again.

He removed the empty clip from his gun and slammed a new one into place, chambering a round into the breach. Just as he was about to pivot out again, a grenade landed beside him.

Barely thinking, Snake grabbed the grenade and whipped it back at the terrorists. The small round grenade – about the size of a tennis ball – exploded in mid-air and Snake watched as one of the terrorists flew backwards, his head rebounding on the floor hard.

Other terrorists must have heard the commotion, because three more uniformed guards filed out of the alcove with the bulkhead, their guns thrust out before them, ready to shoot at anything that moved. They obviously had no idea of Snake's location, as they made to pass the crate and continue down the hall. Snake knew they wouldn't miss him if they passed, so he stood in front of them, his flashlight blinding the leading terrorist.

He shot the first one in the head, throwing him back in a spray of blood. The second took two rounds in the chest before falling with a gurgling scream. Snake grabbed the third one, spun him around and used him as a human shield. 

The last terrorist pivoted out of a small alcove, his assault rifle held out before him. He froze when he saw Snake using one of his comrades as a shield. Snake held his gun in one hand, steadied it on the terrorist's shoulder, while his other arm was wrapped firmly around the man's neck. The two men stared at each other a long moment in a standoff.

__

We will protect you, with our lives if necessary. Had this been the soldier on the radio? Snake wondered.

Maybe. The terrorist moved first, firing a three-round burst into his comrade's chest. Snake fired once, hitting the Russian in the head. The man in his arms died in moments and Snake dropped him.

Wary of more terrorists, Snake reloaded his gun and cautiously headed for the bulkhead. No one waited beside it. He holstered his pistol and turned the wheel, opening the door.

~*~

The terrorist had a splitting headache. 

He remembered the flash of the grenade exploding in midair, the eardrum-splitting boom, and the fall to the floor, but he could not remember what happened afterwards. He sat up and shook his head, regretting the action immediately. Loose boulders seemed to roll around in the confines of his skull and smack into every part of his brain, crushing everything they touched. He suppressed a groan.

The creaking of a wheel brought him back to reality. His stood up – too quickly; he felt nauseous – and cocked his rifle. Slowly – he didn't trust himself to move any faster then an old man's shuffle – he stepped towards the alcove and peeked inside.

It was him. The man who had tossed the grenade, who had killed his friends, who had somehow sneaked through their defenses and gotten into the very bowels of their operation! It would be so easy to just shoot him in the back and get it over with, but…

The terrorist had a fascination with poetic justice.

He waited until the man in the tight gray suit walked through the door and closed it behind him. The terrorist stumbled over to the bulkhead – the floor was very uneven; maybe the tanker was pitching in the storm – and turned the wheel, locking the door tight.

He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of his nausea, when he heard a footstep behind him. He quickly turned and nearly threw up in the process, but was able to hold his gun somewhat steady. He pointed it at a figure cloaked in darkness and the steam from the broken pipes.

"Who goes there?" he said in a surprisingly strong voice.

The figure stepped into the light and revealed himself as an older man with long gray hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a long, flowing trenchcoat over the uniform of the Russian terrorists. A revolver was holstered at the front of his belt, its chestnut handle resting against his stomach. It took a moment for the disoriented terrorist to recognize him.

"Oh, Shalashaska," the man muttered, lowering his gun. "Why are you here?" he asked. He gestured to the locked door behind him with his chin and regretted it as the world spun. "We thought you were with the colonel."

In a blur of motion, the man named Shalashaka drew his revolver and pointed it inches from the terrorist's face. The soldier could only widen his eyes in surprise and exclaim, "What the -- ?" before Shalashaska pulled the trigger. 

The guard slumped to his side, dead in a pool of his own blood.

Shalashaska stepped over the guard's body and turned the bulkhead's wheel, sealing the door and making it impossible to open from the other side. When he finished, he looked down at the dead terrorist at his feet.

"The colonel will be joining you soon…comrade."

With a flourish of his cloak, he left the alcove and strode into the hallway.


	4. Metal Gear RAY

****
    
    Disclaimer: Konami owns Metal Gear and all of its corresponding characters. I am simply putting its magnificent story into words.
    A/N: I'm confused. One reader tells me to take liberties with the story and another tells me to be totally accurate. What's a guy to do?
    Snake spit out his gum on the steel floor and approached the balcony railing overlooking the cargo holds. He had finally arrived and he was far behind his intended schedule. He couldn't afford any more mistakes, lest he fall even more behind...or be killed.

He looked down on a huge room that held a large screen on one end and a projector on another. A dark-skinned man dressed in army fatigues was speaking on the screen and fifty armed Marines, standing in neat, disciplined rows watched him.

His Codec rang. With a slight sigh, he answered it.

"Snake, are you in yet?" Otacon asked, apprehension written all over his face. "Have you made it to the holds?"

"It's taking longer than I expected," Snake replied. "We've already passed the Verrazano Bridge."

"All right, we'll use another recovery point."

"They may be planning to change course."
    
    Otacon's eyes widened in surprise. Clearly, he was not expecting that. "What?"

"The exits to the deck are all sealed," Snake explained. 

"What are they planning?" Otacon asked more to himself than to Snake.

"If they get Metal Gear," Snake said slowly, almost hesitantly, "we're going right off the fringe." He looked down at the men below him, inspecting them with a careful eye. "The men here are definitely Marines," he told Otacon. 

"If the deck is sealed off, they have no way of knowing the ship's been taken over," Otacon said.

"I'm not interested in fighting these guys. The weapons won't do me much good here."

"Can you see Metal Gear?" Otacon asked suddenly. Snake shook his head.

"No," he said. "I'll have to go around to the bow. They have some serious defenses here. I doubt recent arrivals want to blast their way through Marines either."

"…Wonder where they're headed," Otacon mused.

"I don't know," Snake said, leaning back away from the railing. "Not the beach that's for sure."

Otacon nodded, obviously too nervous about the news to laugh. "Okay, Snake. Let's go over this one more time: Use the camera to get photographic evidence of the Metal Gear prototype. Now, do your thing and take pictures that speak louder than the government's plausible denials." Otacon looked off-camera for a moment and Snake heard the clicking of keyboard keys. "We need four shots: Metal Gear from the front, front-right, front-left and a close-up of the Marine Corps marking."

"Marking?" Snake asked, confused.

Otacon nodded. "There should be a 'MARINES' insignia on the body of Metal Gear." He smiled almost wolfishly. "Just let someone try explaining away a clear shot of _that_."

Snake couldn't help but smile in return. "All right."

Otacon's face suddenly turned serious. "There's actually one little thing…"

__

Not again, Snake thought with an inward groan. "Just spit it out. I'm used to things going wrong."

"It looks like someone's monitoring our transmission," Otacon said in a rush.

Snake arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Who?" Otacon protected their transmissions with a painstaking amount of effort, so whoever had gotten past his security measures must have _deserved _to listen to their conversations. Whoever it was, he must have been a real pro, a hacker to rival even Otacon.

"I don't have a clue," Otacon said. Snake could tell that this confession caused Otacon deep discomfort. "All they're doing is watching. It would creep me out less if they tried to interfere with our communications."

"Could it have something to do with that Cypher I saw?" Snake asked.

Otacon shrugged. "Maybe. I've switched the encryption protocol for our burst transmission for now. What I want to do is use a different method for sending those photos, just in case."

"Instead of using the Codec?"

"Exactly. There's a workstation in the southeast corner of the block where Metal Gear is being housed. I've made arrangements so you can send pictures from the machine."

Snake managed not to flinch. More computers. " 'Arrangements' ?" he asked.

"I hitched a ride on Link 16 into the U.S. military's proprietary network. Managed to get into that workstation and overwrote a part of the system software so I could remote-install a little app I wrote…"

Snake had no idea what his friend just said. He was not fluent in Techno-Babble. "Why bother with anything that complicated…?"

Otacon shook his head sadly. He knew Snake didn't understand computers. "No, it's pretty simple, really," he said, sounding all the world like a teacher speaking to a slow student. "Look, all you have to do is hook up the camera and hit the Enter button. The app will automatically launch and download the image data from the camera, split the files and encrypt them individually. The data packets then masquerade as –"

Snake nearly cried out in frustration. More Techno-Babble! It made him feel inferior and he did not like that one bit. "Okay, okay," he said, interrupting Otacon. He wanted to rub his temples or at least smoke a cigarette. "So all I have to do is hook up the camera and hit Enter once I have the pictures, right?"

Otacon looked crestfallen. "Well, sure, if you want to put it that way." He moved to shut down his end of the Codec but stopped. "And one more thing," he said. "The Commandant's already begun his speech, but you need to get the pictures before he's done talking. Otherwise they'll spot you, okay?"

"How much time do I have?" Snake glanced at the clock over the radar screen.

"I hacked into his personal files and took a look at the text of that speech," Otacon replied. He glanced at something off-camera momentarily. "I'd say you have seven minutes – longer if he throws in a joke or two."

"A seven-minute time limit, huh?" He felt he could deal with that. An easy task for one with his skills.

"Remember Snake: Just the photos, okay?"

"With these kinds of odds, I won't be making any sudden moves," Snake said. "But that doesn't mean we can just let Metal Gear be hijacked."

"Okay, okay, but first, the photos…"

Snake rolled his eyes heavenward. "All right. We'll deal with the rest when we get there."

Otacon nodded, relieved. He smiled tentatively. "Stay low," he warned and signed off. Snake noticed his clock had been replaced with a seven-minute timer that was counting down by the second.

__

Time to finish this, Snake thought, moving towards the ladder that would take him down to the hold.

~*~

Snake glanced at the timer on his wrist. Over four minutes remained and he was just about to enter the third and final hold. Getting past the first two holds had been easy, as he had found a vent shaft in the first one. The second hold had two projection screens and Snake was able to sneak past when the screens switched back and forth and the Marines' gazes went with them. The door to the third hold opened automatically and he cautiously stepped through, his eyes everywhere, his hand on the butt of his holstered USP.

Twenty or so Marines stood in orderly rows, as they had in the previous holds, watching a stage on which the Commandant Scott Dolph stood giving out his speech. Two cameramen on raised platforms – both next to the hold's two doors – recorded the speech and gave a live feed to the previous two holds. Behind the Commandant, a huge metal monster loomed, squatting on four bulky limbs that tapered down to points. A jointed, metal-plated tail was connected at the machine's back. Its "head" – a triangular, almost dinosaur-skull-like cockpit – was nestled between the front two limbs, looking over the Marines and straight at Snake. He stifled a gasp, his eyes widening. That was it. That was –

"Metal Gear…" Snake whispered aloud in awe. His Codec beeped in his ear and broke him out of his reverie. He quickly returned to his senses and slapped the activation switch on his neck.

"Okay, we're finally there," Otacon said, foregoing any greetings.

"So this is the new Metal Gear," Snake stated. His eyes kept straying to the walking tank's head. It stared at him hatefully as if it knew why he was here.

"Yep," Otacon replied. "And we're going to show the whole world its baby pictures. Get the prototype on camera. We need four images: one from the front-right, the front-left, the front and a close-up of the MARINES marking. Once you have the photos, use the workstation in the southeast end of the area and transmit them over to me. Send me something I can use!"

Snake tried not to growl in frustration. He hated having instructions repeated to him and Otacon knew it. He was going to give a few choice words to his friend when he got out of here.

Snake pulled his camera out of a pouch on his belt and checked to make sure it was ready. Besides the photo of Gurlukovich on it, it was empty and had plenty of room to save a few pictures, even if he did take a few bad ones. He checked his timer again: over three minutes remained. More than enough time to take four simple pictures.

Snake decided to start with the front shot. He crept behind the Marines and stood between the two cameras and raised his camera to his eye. It auto-focussed on the Metal Gear's hateful features and Snake couldn't help but notice how tiny Dolph looked under the looming shadow of the beast-like tank. He quickly snapped the picture before one of the Marines turned and noticed a strange man standing behind him. Not only would that be embarrassing, Snake thought, stalking around to the front-left of the tank, it would be downright deadly.

The taking of the front-left and front-right pictures went smoothly and Snake nearly went to the console in the corner of the hold when he remembered he needed a fourth picture – the corps marking. If he downloaded these photos without the marking, Otacon would take him to task, a funny thought considering Snake's overwhelming physical strength and endurance compared to Otacon's. Still, Snake didn't need a tongue-lashing so he took a step towards the Metal Gear before he stopped.

Where _was_ the marking? Otacon had said it was on the body but had not given an exact location. It could have been on top of the thing for all he knew and he definitely did not want to even _attempt_ going up there with twenty armed Marines intent on the Commandant.

The Commandant droned on about how superior Metal Gear RAY was to the army's REX – Snake shuddered at that – and Snake pondered where he might find the marking. Time was running short. He would just have to sneak around until he found it.

A single guard kept watch beside the stage in front of the Metal Gear, but he might as well have stayed at home. Like the Russian Snake had seen in the halls on his way to the holds, this guard couldn't stay awake to save his life – which is what it might amount to in a few minutes, Snake thought. He drew his M9 and leveled it at the sleepy Marine's temple. In but a moment he was soundly asleep on the steel floor. Snake stepped over him and began looking at the body of Metal Gear.

There it was! A MARINE logo was painted in crisp white letters on the body, just like Otacon said. In a moment, Snake snapped the picture. It was nearly impossible to screw that one up, even if he had been holding the camera upside down.

With the last picture and two-and-a-half minutes remaining, Snake made his way to the console. The computer looked ancient even to Snake's eyes, but it had the proper plugs for his camera's wire. When he had everything set up, he tapped the Enter button.

The green screen quickly began to move with white-lettering appearing as if of its own accord. Snake could read it, but he couldn't _understand_ it and that made him very uncomfortable. He watched in growing anticipation as the word "username" appeared – quickly followed by the name Scott, which Otacon typed in – and then "password."

Snake was in a near state of panic as Otacon typed in one password, which was rejected, then another and another. _What if they found him?_ Snake thought. _What if he was being traced right now and was discovered?_ It was for this reason that Snake always left the room when Otacon was hacking into another computer.

With one last try, Otacon managed to crack the system and a new screen appeared – a black screen with the word SPRITE v2.21 on it. An upload screen replaced that, with a black bar that filled with orange as the computer read the camera's information. After that was done, a funny little cartoon Otacon appeared on the screen, complete with round glasses and white lab coat. Its head was oversized and smiling dumbly. Snake chuckled softly. Leave it to Otacon to take the time and add something silly to his programs.

"So, any Codec moments from you, Snake?" Otacon asked over the Codec. Snake chuckled again.

Otacon checked over each of the pictures as they were transferred and found nothing wrong, much to Snake's relief. He didn't think he had the time to take new pictures anyway. In a matter of moments, the Commandant's speech was about to wrap up.

Snake removed the camera and wire from the console, placed them in his pouch, at the same instant Scott Dolph finished his speech. Snake listened to the last lines.

"…We the Marines will lead the charge into a new world order with RAY," he was saying. "That is all. Dismissed."

The Marines stood at attention and saluted the Commandant simultaneously. Snake crouched behind a steel crate beside the console and watched them, waiting for them to file out so he could escape the ship. That was easier said than done, he knew.

The Marines stood stock-still for a few moments, frozen in their salute, until the sound of hands clapping broke their discipline and they looked at each other, confused. Snake knew what they were thinking; no one was supposed to clap, so who was breaking the rules? Snake was wondering the same thing.

Slowly, an older man in a trench coat emerged from behind one of the back limbs of Metal Gear. His hair was long and gray, tied back in a neat ponytail. Under his brown coat, he wore the uniform of the Russian terrorists. Snake could not see him from where he hid. All he could hear was the sound of clapping and footsteps on steel grid.

"Excellent speech, my friend," the man drawled.

__

That voice, Snake thought.

"Who the -- ?" Dolph began. He turned to regard the newcomer with more curiosity than anger.

"The gift of the silver tongue," the man continued. "They say it's the mark of a good officer." He pointed an accusing finger at the Commandant. "And of a liar. Americans are too in love with the sound of their own voice to speak the truth."

Dolph didn't seem fazed in the least. "Identify yourself," he barked.

Several Marines rushed forward and crouched down in front of their leader, M4 assault rifles, which had previously been slung over their shoulders, now pointed at the stranger, cocked and ready. Several others stood and pointed 9mm pistols. Their aim would be true at this close range and any one shot would instantly kill the man. Scott Dolph didn't wish this to happen…not yet, anyway.

"I am Shalashaska," the intruder announced in a loud voice. "Also called Revolver – "

He stepped forward and Snake could see him clearly. His eyes widened in shock and recognition.

" – Ocelot," Snake muttered and the intruder said at the same time.

Memories flooded over Snake, horrible memories he had not wanted to ever think about again. He remembered this man's face clearly, pointing a Colt Single Action Army revolver at his face as he emerged from behind a pillar holding up an injured old man. Wires were the only things between the two at that time, deep within the bowels of Shadow Moses. There had been an intense firefight, a twisted game of Ring Around the Rosie that only ended with one of the players falling down. 

Snake shuddered and forced himself to think about the present. He had to concentrate to survive. But…to see Ocelot here…that was almost too much. Snake leaned heavily against the cold steel crate.

"What do you want?" Dolph demanded of Ocelot.

Ocelot looked around him, at the limbs of Metal Gear, and nodded satisfactorily. "This machine will be quite useful," he said.

"What are you planning to do – steal this thing?" Dolph asked incredulously.

"Steal?" Ocelot retorted. "No, no, I'm taking it back!"

Snake deftly moved from one crate to another, keeping behind cover. From his new vantage point, he could see behind the Commandant…and he could see a gloved hand reach for his unprotected shoulder.

As if from nowhere, an elderly man with a gleaming Makarov pistol in his hand appeared. He jammed the pistol against Dolph's temple and drew the Commandant towards him. Wisely, Dolph made no move to fight. The Marines spun around and pointed their weapons at the most recent intruder.

"Gurlukovich," Snake muttered sourly. 

"Nobody move!" Ocelot barked at the Marines. "Understood?"

Ocelot walked forward and stepped onto the platform Dolph had delivered his speech from. The Marines in the hold – as well as those in the other holds, watching the action televised from the cameras – muttered to themselves, unsure of what to do exactly. With their leader taken hostage, they were at a loss.

Ocelot reached behind him and under his coat and produced a remote device. Snake instantly recognized it as a detonation device. He got a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ocelot displayed the device proudly before the Marines.

"This ship now carries enough SEMTEX on its key structural points to blow it out of the water," he announced. "At the touch of this button." His gloved thumb hovered over the red button on he remote. The Marines noticed this and crept back as if that small movement would place them farther from the imminent explosion. Ocelot smiled.

"That's right," he said, nodding. "No one has to die needlessly."

Russian terrorists rappelled from the ceiling and landed beside the Metal Gear. Others came in on foot from doors Snake hadn't noticed before. Six terrorists formed a ring around Ocelot, their guns trained on the Marines.

"We're almost at the target," Ocelot said loudly. "Get a move on!"

Terrorists began to unfasten the taut metal cables securing Metal Gear to the hold's floor. They did it with trained ease and Snake guessed they had practiced this situation long before the actual event. If he hadn't been stuck among them, Snake would have admired their dedication…and if they weren't bloodthirsty terrorists. As they worked, the Commandant and Gurlukovich spoke.

"What do you intend to do with RAY – sell it on the streets?" Dolph asked.

"I was raised in Snezhinsk," Gurlukovich said, "formerly know as Chelyabinsk-70, the nuclear research outpost."

"What are you talking about?" Dolph demanded. He didn't look like he had the patience to stand and be used as a hostage.

"After the Cold War ended, my home was bought out by the Americans."

__

What's the point? Snake thought as Dolph said, "Is there a point to this sad story?"

Gurlukovich jammed the pistol's barrel into the Commandant's forehead, growling in savage fury and frustration. "Not that you would understand!" he said in a low, threatening tone. "Lands, friends, dignity…all were sold to the highest bidder – the United States of America!" He nodded at the looming Metal Gear in front of them. "Even the technology that gave birth to these weapons is Russian!"

Dolph seemed to think on that for a moment and Snake could see the wheels turning in his head. After a long moment the Commandant said: "What do you intend to do?"

Gurlukovich leaned in close to whisper in Dolph's ear. Through some trick of the walls and the echoes they produced, Snake was able to hear him clearly.

"Russia _will_ rise again," he said. "And RAY is the key." Dolph's eyes widened in surprise.

Ocelot must have heard him as well, for he said, "I regret to inform you that I have no intention of selling Metal Gear. As I said, I came to take it back."

Ocelot took a few steps away from the terrorist colonel and his hostage. He walked past a Russian soldier, who watched him with a new curiosity. Something was afoot, he thought. Ocelot turned around and looked Gurlukovich straight in the eye.

"Yes, returned," he said. "To the _Patriots_!"

The Commandant's eyes widened even more, to the size of dinner plates. He instantly recognized the name. "The La-li-lu-le-lo!" he gasped. "How's that…possible?"

Snake felt confused. Patriots? La-li…whatever? He thought he knew every mercenary group and terrorist function in North America – even a few overseas. He had never heard of anyone called the Patriots. He stored this new information away for later use.

Gurlukovich looked scared for the first time since he had entered the holds. He drew the Commandant closer. "Ocelot, you…Have you sold us out?" he yelled.

Ocelot chuckled as if Gurlukovich had just told the punch line of a joke. Maybe to him, it was a kind of joke. "I was never in your employ, Gurlukovich."

"Are you still in league with Solidus?" Gurlukovich asked.

__

Solidus. Snake knew that name. He had done some research after the Shadow Moses incident with Otacon's help. _Is he here?_ Snake wondered. 

"No hard feelings, Colonel," Ocelot said. "Mother Russia can rot for all I care."

Gurlukovich looked deeply hurt. He shook his head sadly. "Since when, Ocelot? When did you turn?"

"I'm glad you noticed, comrade," Ocelot said. His accent slipped for a moment, revealing more Russian than a Western movie drawl. "I abandoned her during a Cold War."

Gurlukovich growled an almost inhuman sound. He seemed to have forgotten that he held the Commandant, who looked slightly nervous now. He knew something and whatever it was, it was enough to break his discipline as a fearless commander.

"Metal Gear only has room for one!" Ocelot announced to the gathering of Russians and Marines. They muttered amongst themselves, unsure of what to do. Both groups' leaders were dazed and confused. "Gurlukovich," Ocelot continued, "you and your daughter will die here!"

Obviously, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Gurlukovich howled in rage and screamed "Damn you!" before shoving the Commandant in front of him. He aimed his pistol at the back of Ocelot's head. At the same instant, Ocelot removed his trench coat and threw it in the air.

"Die you dog!" Gurlukovich screamed in his rage. 

Ocelot moved liked greased lightning and drew the revolver at the front of his belt. The Commandant stumbled towards him, off-balance, and got behind the still airborne coat.

Two shots rang out, echoing crazily in the confines of the hold. Ocelot's bullet blew through his coat and into Gurlukovich's chest, below the heart, as Gurlukovich fired. His bullet blasted through Ocelot's coat as well and entered the Commandant's back. The Commandant yelled out in pain and stumbled to his knees, dead before he hit the ground. Gurlukovich wasn't so lucky; he fell to his knees and onto his back, screaming all the while. He was still alive, however.

"Sergei," Ocelot said. "Looks like you were long overdue for retirement." He dropped his smoking revolver to the floor with a clatter. This confused Snake; Ocelot loved his revolver like it was his son. Why would he fire it once and toss it like it was a useless hunk of metal?

"Traitorous dog," Gurlukovich gurgled. Blood was slowly filling up his punctured lung. He would not live much longer. 

The Russian terrorists stared dumbly at their fallen leader for an instant then trained their aim on Ocelot. Before any of them could react, Ocelot drew a second revolver from the back of his belt and spun a quick circle. Six shots were fired and six Russians fell to the floor, dead. Ocelot twirled the revolver on his finger, tossed it in the air, caught it and holstered it in a crouch like he was performing for an audience. He stood up straight and held the detonator in his fist. The Marines – who watched the drama unfold, too shocked to do much of anything – snapped back to reality and leveled their aim on Ocelot.

"Show's over!" Ocelot announced. "If you wish to live, I suggest you run now! This ship is still in the Lower New York Harbor. You may yet make it if you swim for your lives!"

With that, he pressed the red button and explosions rocked the tanker, tipping it crazily. The Marines slipped off the platform and onto the hard steel floor. Water began flooding into the hold and, foot by foot, started to fill the huge space. 

As if he didn't have a care in the world, Ocelot climbed a ladder that led to a catwalk to Metal Gear's cockpit. Below him, Marines opened fire from the M4 assault rifles, striking the railing, the walls, the catwalk, but not one bullet so much as grazed Ocelot. Snake's mouth opened in bewilderment. _This _was the marksmanship required to become a Marine?

Snake decided to take matters into his own hands. He waded through the now waist-deep water, pushing past Marines and climbed the steel stairs to the platform in front of Metal Gear. He drew his USP and went down on his knees, his aim pointed up at his enemy.

"_OCELOT!_" Snake yelled over the sound of rushing water, shouts of confusion and wrenching, creaking metal.

Ocelot must have heard him because he looked down and saw Snake. He didn't seem surprised, however. He looked about to say something when his arm twitched and he looked at it in shock. He let out a thin, wailing scream and grabbed his arm in pain. It bulged and ripped apart his glove and sleeve to his elbow. He stopped screaming and breathed heavily, his face masked by his now unbound hair. In a moment, he looked down at Snake and grinned.

"It's been a while, brother," he said, his voice taking on a British accent. He sounded eerily familiar, and not as the gun-slinging Russian he knew. He sounded like…

"Who are you?" Snake demanded.

"You know who I am."

Snake tried to deny it, tried to think of another conclusion but none would come forth. "Liquid?" he asked no one in particular.

Memories rushed over him again. He remembered his twin's face smiling at him, as he was strapped to a torture machine. He remembered him talking to Snake just before he hopped into Metal Gear REX in an attempt to kill him. He remembered Liquid aiming a FAMAS rifle at him while he was pinned under a Jeep.

He remembered the anguished scream as Liquid died.

"Not so young anymore, eh, Snake?" Liquid asked, breaking into Snake's thoughts. "You're drowning in time. I know what it's like, brother."

Snake's gaze flickered around him, but he didn't move his head so much as an inch. Liquid was right. The water was just below the platform now and gushing in with each passing moment. If he didn't escape soon, he would go down with the ship. He growled in frustration.

Liquid walked towards the Metal Gear cockpit for a few steps. He stopped and glanced down at Snake hatefully.

"No wonder Naomi passed you over for the FOXDIE program," he said. He bare fist clenched and unclenched. That arm twitched again. Liquid yelled in pain.

"Out!" Ocelot – at least, it sounded like Ocelot – said, his voice filled with pain. "Get out of my mind, Liquid!" He brought the arm up and bit deep into it. Snake watched, confused. In a moment, Ocelot/Liquid calmed.

"The price of physical prodigy," Liquid's voice said. He pointed down at Snake and said, "Few more years and you'll be another dead clone of the old man." He held up his bare arm and blood trickled down from where Ocelot had bitten it. "Our raw materials are vintage, brother! Big Boss was in his late fifties when they created his copies. But I – I live on through this arm!" He raised a triumphant fist.

"Liquid's arm?" Snake said, dumbfounded. 

At that moment, an underwater explosion rocked the ship and Snake fell off the platform, into the black water.

~*~

Colonel Sergei Gurlukovich floated in the water on his back, looking at the hold's ceiling far above him. He could see the cockpit of Metal Gear and Ocelot walking towards it and he pursed his blood-flecked lips in hate.

Below him, the Commandant, Scott Dolph floated facedown.

__

How could I have been so stupid? he thought. _That traitor…I'll get my revenge._

But he knew he would never live to see his vengeance, if it ever came to be. Ocelot's bullet was lodged in his body and it had punctured his lung. He had seen the effect of a collapsed lung in quite a few wars but he had never once thought it would happen to him.

Darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision. He blinked a few times to try and remove it, but it continued to creep over him. Soon he would be totally blind. His other senses began to shut down as well. He could only hear the slow beating of his weakening heart in his ears and could no longer feel the ice-cold water; he felt like he was floating high above, sailing through the clouds…

Darkness stole his vision, but he could still see images in his mind. The last thing he thought of before he drowned in his own blood was the face of his daughter. He didn't even hear himself say her name.

~*~

Liquid Snake felt extremely pleased with himself.

He hopped into the Metal Gear cockpit and activated the machine with a few keystrokes. In moments, the walking battle tank was online and ready to destroy anything in his path. He looked through the digital screen – windows would be a weak point in the design – and searched the bodies strewn in the water. He saw Marines, Russians…but no sign of Snake.

__

There he is, Liquid thought as he saw a figure emerge from the water and vault onto the platform. It was Snake all right, but he had lost his USP in the fall.

"You don't have what it takes after all!" Liquid yelled into Metal Gear's microphone. He heard his voice echoing in the hold's confines. Snake looked up at the tank and scowled.

Liquid grabbed a lever and yanked it upwards. Metal Gear instantly responded and practically leapt into the air, smashing into the hold's ceiling. He laughed uproariously.

"You're going down, Snake!" he yelled. "With this tanker!"

He watched as Snake turned to run down the platform – _Nowhere to hide, brother,_ Liquid thought – and stepped on a foot pedal. The tank lurched forward and crashed into the platform. Snake flew through the air and crashed into the wall. He crumpled in a heap, unconscious. Liquid laughed again. Dolph had been right; this machine was far superior to REX!

A monitor displayed a readout of the damage Metal Gear was taking. None was displayed, and if there was, it was far too miniscule for the computer to read. There was, however, a warning displayed about an attack on Metal Gear's flank. Liquid manipulated the controls and turned the vehicle towards a group of Marines on the hold's upper balcony.

A few of the Marines were firing their pistols and machine guns at the tank but others were firing grenades from the launchers mounted under their M4's barrels. Liquid laughed at their pitiful attempts and moved a few levers. He watched the looks on the Marines' faces as Metal Gear brought up one leg and kicked in the balcony. A crater formed in the wall where the Marines previously stood. He must have hit a wire, for the electricity went out and the lamps over the balcony flickered off, one by one.

Liquid laughed once more and turned the machine, looking for more destruction.

~*~

Snake slowly awoke, his head splitting in a monstrous headache. Snake had never felt this bad, even after the few occasions Otacon had dragged him home from the bar. He opened his eyes and saw Metal Gear in front of him, splashing up water and smashing into the walls. The water was level with the catwalk Snake was sitting on. Time was running out.

Snake dragged himself to his feet, using the wall for support. He called up Otacon, keeping his eyes on the walking tank. He felt that if he looked away for one second, things would get a lot worse…if it was possible.

"Otacon," he said, "we have a problem."

RAY stuck its head in the water and Snake watched in wonder as it began to _drink_. It sucked up the water greedily, pulling dead bodies closer to it. When it was finished, it pulled its head out and seemed to stare at the wall imprisoning it.

Suddenly, its head split into four parts, revealing a metal box where the throat might be on a living being. The water it had sucked up shot out like a high-powered laser and split the wall vertically. Water gushed in – straight for Snake.

Snake turned to jump out of the way, but the water slammed into his back with the force of a sledgehammer and he flew forward. He landed in the water and blacked out.

He couldn't hear Otacon screaming his name over the Codec.

~*~

Metal Gear RAY cut through the water like a fish, its tail propelling it forward, its limbs moving it right and left, up and down. It had been designed for this and it was in its element.

The amphibious tank swam through the hull via the hole it had created and made its way to the surface among the bodies and debris from the ship. It burst through the surface and sailed into the air, landing on top of the tanker, which had been split into two parts. The ship was doomed to a watery grave. 

Inside the cockpit, Ocelot looked at the digital projection to survey his surroundings. The rain had not abated and the night had grown deeper so that the only lights were from the shrouded cityscape and Metal Gears own headlights. He looked down at the water for a long moment until a gray-suited man emerged, soaked to the bone. Although he couldn't get a clear view of his face, Ocelot saw the bandanna around the figure's head and instantly recognized him. 

Ocelot wore a Codec system similar to the one Snake was using, although he didn't have a monitor on his wrist. There was no need for it. Someone spoke to him over the Codec's receiver and he immediately answered.

"Yes, sir…proceeding as planned, sir," he said. He moved a few controls and Metal Gear shuddered. It then backflipped into the water with a huge splash that turned into a tidal wave. The wave moved inexorably towards the floundering Solid Snake and quickly washed him way.

"…Yes, at the location we discussed," Ocelot said into the Codec. He listened for a moment. "Yes. I have photographic evidence of Snake on the scene. The Cypher was most useful." He listened again for a few moments, then nodded. "I look forward to tomorrow's news flash. I would say the Marine Corps' plans are on indefinite hold." He paused, listening once more. "Yes, of course, Mr. President…"

Metal Gear swam away under the cover of the surging waves and the raging storm.

~*~

A small fishing boat struggled to break through the waves without capsizing. It reached the edge of the debris from the slowly sinking tanker and stopped there. As the tanker sank, it drew everything around it towards it, like a whirlpool. Debris of any size went towards that black hole…including the bodies of the dead and the living.

A man in a white lab coat stood on the deck of the fishing boat, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness and the curtain of stinging rain. In a few minutes, his body heat would be leached from him and he would catch a cold…or worse. 

He leaned over the deck's railing and looked into the water, but there were only chunks of debris from the ship: a table, a broken chair, a scrap of metal and the uniformed body of a Marine.

"Snake!" the man yelled, his words ripped from his mouth and stolen by the gale-force winds as soon as he had spoken them. He could barely hear himself, how could anyone out there hear him? "SNAKE!" he screamed.

There was no answer.

A/N: That's the end of the tanker chapter. I was going to stop there, but if anyone wants me to continue and write the plant chapter as well, I just might consider it. If you want it, tell me in a review. Thank you for reading.


	5. Infiltration

A/N: After a year or more, here is the beginning of the Big Shell mission. I hope you enjoy it.

_"Scientists had to make thousands of calculations to create the (atomic) bomb and determine its effects... Computers and atomic bombs, both products of World War II, grew up together."_

Information Age: People, Information, and Technology exhibition - National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institute.

Verrazano Bridge, April 29th.

The Verrazano Bridge was an engineering marvel, breathtaking to behold and amazing to see from the sky. Two helicopters looked down at the bridge, but the occupants within the choppers didn't marvel at it, didn't so much as glance in its direction. They were intent on a huge offshore facility a few miles from Manhattan's coast.

Even if the men in the chopper had been looking for him, they still wouldn't have seen the dark figure barely under the surface of the water, moving for the same facility they were headed to. The man wore a tight rubber-textured suit that clung to his toned body and a diver's mask that covered his entire head. He conversed on an updated Codec system, one that didn't require the wrist-screen attachment. This system placed the image directly on the user's eye, but to the user it looked like he was watching a TV monitor.

"Snake," an older man's voice said over the Codec. The voice was Colonel Roy Campbell, one of the people involved with the Shadow Moses incident. "Do you remember the sinking of that tanker two years ago?"

Snake rhythmically kicked towards the facility. "Of course," he replied. His voice was youthful, hollow-sounding within the confines of his mask. He focused on the leathery face of Colonel Campbell displayed directly on his eye. The Colonel nodded in satisfaction.

"Terrorists blow a hole in an oil tanker full of crude, barely twenty miles off the shore of Manhattan; your classic nightmare. It didn't take long for the government to put an oil fence around the whole mess. And then that massive offshore cleanup facility went up inside."

" 'The Big Shell,' " Snake said. He could barely see a support strut through the murky water and the orange-tinted goggles he wore. He was getting closer. "I hear the cleanup isn't quite over yet," he said conversationally.

"It takes time," the Colonel told him. "But, in the meantime, the Shell's become a landmark, a symbol of environmental protection." He paused momentarily. "Approximately six hours ago, the Big Shell was seized by an armed group."

So that's what this is about, Snake thought. "Do we have an ID?"

The Colonel nodded. "Former members of the Navy SEAL's special anti-terrorist training squad, 'Dead Cell.' Russian private army members may also be involved. It's a highly trained group and they have the Big Shell under their complete control."

The helicopters zoomed overhead towards the Big Shell. From the shore, NYPD officers watched the drama unfold with digital scope binoculars. The Colonel must have had a link to the radios in those helicopters, because Snake suddenly heard static-distorted voices.

"Calling teams Alpha and Bravo," a deep male voice said over the radio. The voice had the tone of authority in it. "Deploy at the Big Shell as scheduled."

The helicopters hovered over one of the two central struts of the Big Shell and uniformed SEALs began to rappel down and enter the complex. Snake broke the surface of the water and watched them for a moment. His platinum blonde hair poked out from under his diving mask. When the moment was passed, he dove back under the water once more, heading towards the oil fence.

"Come in downwind and pull up fast," the man over the radio said to the descending SEALs. "Get ready to fast-rope descend to Shell One. Five minutes to ETA! Alpha, your main priority is to rescue and safeguard the president. Team Bravo, watch out for Stillman's back and get those C4's disarmed."

Snake drew closer to the fence and noticed an inky black trail coming out of it. He kicked towards it and saw a hole in the fence. _That's not a natural hole_, he thought. _Someone cut through here._ He decided to take advantage of the situation and swim through the hole.

"What are their demands?" Snake asked the Colonel.

"Thirty billion dollars," Campbell told him in a simple, yet serious, tone.

"Thirty billion dollars?" Snake asked incredulously. "What makes them think they can get that much?"

"There was a government-sponsored tour going on at the Big Shell that day."

"Hostages, huh?"

The Colonel nodded. "A VIP from one of the conservation groups, and one from our own government – the Most Important Person, in a sense."

Snake frowned, unseen behind his mask. "Most important person…?" he repeated.

"James Johnson."

"The President!"

"Unless the demands are met, the terrorists intend to blow the Shell out of the water."

Snake saw where this was going. "And the crude will ignite, turning the Manhattan harbor into an inferno."

"That's not the worst-case scenario," the Colonel replied. "If the chlorides being used to decontaminate the sea water go up with the oil, toxins containing catastrophic levels of dioxins will be released." Snake furrowed his brows in confusion. He wasn't a chemist and had no idea what this meant. "In other words," Campbell continued, "the bay's ecosystem will be wiped out and the sea will turn into a toxic soup for centuries – becoming the worst environmental disaster in history."

Snake didn't like the sound of that. A lot hung on the line with this mission. One false step could not only kill himself, but the hostages and every living thing within twenty miles of the Big Shell.

"You have two mission objectives," the Colonel was saying. "One: infiltrate the offshore cleaning facility 'Big Shell' and safeguard the president and other hostages." Snake figured the Colonel was reading off a sheet from the formal tone of his voice, but he seemed to be looking directly at Snake. "And two: disarm the terrorists by any means necessary."

Snake kicked towards the surface of the water. He was under the Big Shell now and he could see a light above him. He had studied the Big Shell layout momentarily before heading out for his mission. From what little he remembered, he thought he was heading for a deep-sea dock.

"You should know," the Colonel said, "that SEAL Team 10 is also conducting a rescue operation."

"Is this a joint effort?" Snake asked.

"No. FOXHOUND remains a covert body. Don't alert anyone to your presence – that is an order."

Snake broke the surface of the water and looked around. His goggles distorted his vision slightly, and at first he thought a giant guard was standing above him, looking down. He blinked and saw that it was actually a deep-sea diving suit. He nearly laughed at his own surprise, but managed to hold it back. Now was not the time for laughing.

He swam towards a ladder jutting out of the water that led to the cement platform above. He quickly climbed up the ladder and looked around. There were no sentries in the small, high-ceilinged room. There were plenty of cockroach-like bugs on one of the nearby walls, however. He crushed one with a metal-toed shoe before kneeling and activating his Codec. The Colonel's face appeared in front of him immediately.

"This is Snake," he said. According to protocol, he was supposed to identify himself at the beginning of a mission. Someone once told him it was so that the speaker could be identified while the conversations were recorded; almost all conversations were recorded. "I am now inside Strut A of Shell One."

"How are things?" Campbell asked.

"We're in luck. Looks like there are no sentries posted here."

"What's the visibility?"

"The lights on the plant's struts are functioning," Snake replied. "I won't have to use the IR goggles."

"Any problems?"

"There was a brand-new hole cut through the oil fence," Snake said. "There someone else besides me that wanted to get in badly."

The Colonel looked confused momentarily but smoothed his features so fast, Snake thought he had imagined it. Maybe he had. "That's not possible," the Colonel said.

"What about SEAL Team 10?" Snake asked.

"They landed on the roof of the Big Shell as planned." The Colonel hesitated slightly, then said, "And by the way, Snake, we're changing your code name for all following communication."

Snake frowned. "What's wrong with 'Snake'?" he asked slowly.

"Just a precaution," the Colonel replied. "You are now designated 'Raiden.'"

Snake – now Raiden – rolled the name around in his mind for a few moments. Raiden. It seemed appropriate somehow. He rather liked the sound of it. Raiden. The Colonel's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"All right, Raiden," he said, "you've already covered infiltration in VR training."

Raiden had done countless (or nearly so) virtual reality – or VR for short – simulations that would prepare him for the mission ahead. Some of the VR missions had given him knowledge of certain weapons that would rival a veteran's wisdom while others prepared him for sneaking around an enemy base and how to fight in hand-to-hand combat. One series of VR missions had taught him to use a sword with such speed that he actually managed to deflect bullets. He was quite proud of his acquired knowledge.

"I've completed three hundred missions in VR," he boasted. "I feel like some kind legendary mercenary…"

The Colonel sighed. "Okay, we'll skip that part. Make sure nobody sees you. If you need to, contact me by Codec. The frequency is 140.85. When we need to reach you…" The Colonel paused. "…Contact you," he corrected, "the Codec will beep. The Codec's receiver directly stimulates the small bones in your ear. No one but you will be able to hear it."

"All right," Raiden replied with a curt nod. "I'll contact you if anything changes."

"First, make your way to the upper section of the Big Shell," Campbell instructed.

Raiden frowned again, tried to remember the map he had briefly studied what seemed like ages ago. He couldn't remember how to get to the next level, so he asked as much.

"There's an elevator at the far end of that area," the Colonel told him. "Use that."

"Sounds good." Raiden scratched at his leg through the material of his Sneaking Suit. Through his gloves – which were made of the same material – it felt like rubber. As if reading his mind, Campbell began explaining the suit.

"Your new Sneaking Suit uses electrofiber technology, a by-product of fiber-optics research," the Colonel said. "The texture isn't far removed from rubber but the material protects against a wide range of toxic substances. The suit itself has a wide array of built-in sensors and is referred to as 'Smart Skin' in military R&D. Data about damage to different regions of the body, including blood loss, is exchanged between the suit and intravenous nanomachines to create a biofeedback system."

Raiden was lost in the explanation. While the information might have been interesting, it was far from handy considering the moment. He rubbed at his chest and the metallic "ribs" in the suit, especially the metal plate that resembled a sternum. That area had been giving him problems for a while now, as he could not puff out his chest to draw a deep enough breath, should the oxygen tank built into his diving mask run low.

"There's a lot of pressure on my torso," he complained.

"Relax," the Colonel told him. "The suit applies varying pressure to major internal organs to maximize performance and safeguard their functions. They call it the 'Skull Suit' in FOXHOUND."

"Skull Suit," Raiden repeated. "Seems appropriate somehow."

"The hatch with a circular handle will open into the elevator area," the Colonel continued, ignoring Raiden. "Locate the hatch first."

"Copy that," Raiden replied. He managed to refrain from saluting. "Moving on to main mission objectives." With that, he switched off the Codec by tapping the activation switch on his neck.

He looked around at his surroundings. The dock wasn't large and it wasn't hard to find the hatch – it was across from where he was standing – but he decided to have a look around first. Three lockers stood next to the hatch, but they were empty of any equipment that might prove useful during his mission. The only item he found was a dried-up old ration and he had plenty of those. He didn't look forward to eating them.

Saddened that there were no weapons, Raiden moved towards the hatch and placed one hand on the wheel. He froze, however, as he heard the muffled sounds of someone crying out in pain and then a heavy weight dropping to the floor. He slowly opened the door and peeked through it. A man dressed in white camouflage and a black balaclava lay on the floor, his assault rifle lying on his chest. The man stood up and shook his head.

Raiden quickly turned on his Codec and saw the Colonel appear in front of him. "Colonel, I've sighted an enemy sentry," he reported. He absorbed every detail of the man through his orange goggles, especially his weapons, as the terrorist walked away. "AN-94," he said as he looked at the rifle. He shifted his gaze to the pistol holstered at the terrorist's belt. "And a Makarov." He shifted his gaze once more to the grenades opposite the pistol. "Those grenades…All of his equipment are Russian-made."

"Must be a Gurlukovich man," the Colonel suggested.

"Gurlukovich?" Raiden repeated.

"A Russian private army that was in line to work with the Shadow Moses takeover group, four years ago," the Colonel explained.

Raiden arched a blonde eyebrow, intrigued. "What's their stake in this one?"

"They must have made a deal," the Colonel reasoned. "An arrangement with the terrorists. They've become a band of mercenaries, an army without a country." With that, the Colonel signed off and disappeared from Raiden's view.

Raiden threw open the hatch and crept into the L-shaped hall. He peeked around the corner, but only found a closed door, which opened automatically when he came close enough. The room beyond had a stack of crates on the middle of the floor and an elevator to the far end of Raiden's left. The elevator was rising, and someone in a tight gray suit was on it. A terrorist fell to the floor, evidently having been thrown from the moving elevator. Before Raiden could get many details about the man, the elevator carried him out of sight. He did catch sight of the flowing tails of a bandanna around the man's head.

Raiden activated his Codec and the Colonel appeared in his eye. "Colonel," Raiden said, forgoing any greetings, "there's definitely another intruder in here besides me."

"That's not a possibility," the Colonel stubbornly refused.

"Not a team," Raiden explained. "Looks like a solo job."

"One man…?"

Raiden was glad he didn't have to explain every little detail about what he had seen. He leaned to one side to look at the unconscious terrorist on the floor and noticed another slumped on his side, similarly out cold. "We may not know who he is," Raiden said, "but he managed to take care of every sentry in the area; they're all out cold. Whoever he is, he's got some skills," he admitted.

The Colonel shook his head. "We need to get an ID," he said. "But for now, you can take advantage of the situation and get to work. There's a terminal in front of the elevator, a node."

Raiden wasn't really paying attention. He was watching the elevator as if he expected it to descend at any given moment and bring the intruder with it. He barely caught the Colonel's words and when he did, he was confused.

"Did you say 'nerd'?" he asked.

"Not 'nerd'," the Colonel said, his aggravation showing through his calm demeanor. "Node."

"Oh," was all Raiden had to say, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Use the node to gain access to the Big Shell's facilities network," the Colonel continued.

"Then what?" Raiden looked around the room. Cargo containers lined the walls, as well as in the center of the room. A forklift sat behind the cargo in the middle of the room and from the look of it, it had been used recently. He didn't see any "node" though, but then again, he had no idea what a node looked like.

"Pull up the map of the structure," the Colonels said. "That'll let you activate the Soliton radar."

"The Soliton radar?" Raiden repeated. He nodded to himself as he remembered the simple wire-frame drawings of his surroundings. "True. That radar came in useful during VR training."

Again, the Colonel ignored him. "A radar system," he said. "Uses biological magnetic fields as input. These estimated enemy positions are projected onto a map according to the reference points collected via GPS signals and field reports."

Who cares? Raiden thought irritably. He refrained from rolling his eyes at his superior officer. Although he understood computers to a certain degree, he had never been interested in the techno-babble nerds on the Internet spewed on about endlessly.

"We need to get to the map of the through the Big Shell's node to put this data processing to practical use," the Colonel continued, completely unaware that Raiden was close to dozing. "The node is about three feet high and should be colored blue. Each area has at least one."

Raiden stepped around the cargo crates in the middle of the room, glancing around for the node. He spotted it next to the elevator and stood in front of it. He was about to start tapping keys on the keyboard when he realized something: There was no keyboard. The screen blinked "User Input Required" at him in bold blue lettering. He suddenly regretted not taking more computer courses.

"How do I gain access?" he finally asked, more embarrassed than before. There was just something about asking an old man about computers that galled him.

"Just push the 'enter' button on the front of the node," the Colonel explained calmly. "The nanomachines in your body will take care of the security clearance and allow you access to the node. Complete the procedure before those sentries gain consciousness," he warned. "If they spot you, you won't be able to gain access for a while. Stay on guard."

"Got it," Raiden assured him. He signed off and stared at the node. With a shrug that moved the metal plates on his shoulders, he reached for the "enter" button on the screen. He pressed down on the screen with the palm of his hand. A surge of electricity coursed up his arm and he grunted in pain. The tendrils of power seemed to probe him, course through his body and pick out the information necessary to run the node. As sudden as the attack began, it quit and a login screen appeared, along with a touch keyboard. Not wanting to divulge information to the enemy, he simply entered the "Raiden" on the name line. He left the date of birth, blood type and other areas blank, although he did specify that he was male. When he finished, the Codec beeped.

"Good work, Raiden," the Colonel said.

Raiden didn't bother to ask how the Colonel knew he had accessed the node. Somehow, he knew everything. "The radar should be functioning now?" he asked.

"Remember your VR training sessions. The tool is exactly the same one." The Colonel then proceeded to explain how the radar worked, although, for the most part, Raiden already understood it. Finished with the explanation, the Colonel said, "An analyst has been provided to work on the data too."

Before Raiden could ask what that meant exactly, the Colonel's image was replaced with that of a beautiful woman with long brown hair and intense green eyes. Her skin was the color of porcelain and her cheekbones may have been made of the fragile material. From what Raiden could see, she wore a white lab coat with her ID tag hanging on the breast. Raiden blinked in sudden surprise when he saw her.

"Jack, is everything all right?" the woman asked.

Raiden stared at her, uncomprehending. When he was finally able to speak, he said, "What are you doing here?"

"Jack, can you hear me?" she asked.

"Rose!" Raiden snapped. "You're not supposed to be involved! What's going on?"

"Jack, I'm a part of this mission."

Raiden was beginning to grow aggravated, partially because Rose kept calling him "Jack" when he was trying to hide who he really was. "Colonel," he said, "what the hell is going on?"

"Raiden," the Colonel said, his face replacing that of Rose, "meet the mission analyst. She'll be overseeing the data and providing support."

Raiden's frustration reached new heights. "Why her?" he blurted out.

"The FOXHOUND analyst that was supposed to take part in this mission was in an accident," the Colonel explained. "Rosemary was brought in as a replacement."

Raiden was dumbfounded. "An accident…?" he repeated slowly.

"And according to the files, she knows you better than anyone else."

Raiden quickly gathered his wits about him once more. "Rose may be in the service," he argued, "but an intelligence analyst is no field officer." He was glad he was wearing the diving mask so no one could see the worry etched into his features.

"Not to worry," the Colonel reassured him. "She has our technical staff at our disposal."

Raiden decided to try another tactic. "She's never been a part of a field mission. This is insane!"

"I have my own reasons for selecting her for this mission, soldier," the Colonel said, his voice rising. Despite the unspoken warning, Raiden continued to argue.

"Colonel, I fail to see –"

"I know your VR training performance in and out. But sometimes that's not enough. You're familiar with the Shadow Moses incident?"

"You know I covered it in VR," Raiden said, a dejected tone to his voice.

"If there's a crucial tactical detail that case taught us, it was the power of the operative's will to survive."

Raiden suppressed a sigh. "I was trained to fight. My personal feelings have no place in a mission."

"We've learned that it doesn't work that way. And on the field, you need all the help you can get."

Raiden was about to retort when Rose's face flashed up on his other eye, over the radar, so he could see both people at once. "Jack?" she said. "You're stuck with me, no matter what."

"Rose…"

"You need someone to watch your back. But I have some conditions that need to be met, Colonel."

"What is it?" the Colonel asked.

"I'll perform my duties and watch over the mission data, but I'm aware that technically I'm not a part of the mission control team. After all," she said in an almost embarrassed tone, "I'm just a normal girl who's worried about Jack."

Unseen behind his mask, Raiden flinched.

"But that means Colonel," she continued, "that I am not required to follow your orders outside of my immediate duties. Jack is not simply a field personnel for me to track. His safety comes first to me, not the mission and because of that, I will be monitoring and keeping a record of every communication you have with him, Colonel."

The Colonel was silent for a moment before saying, "Given the circumstances, you're free to do what you see fit."

Rose smiled, happy in her small victory. "Hey, I prefer this to being kept in the dark."

"I'd like to make a request if I may," the Colonel said coldly.

The smile vanished from Rose's face. "Of course."

"His handle is Raiden. For the duration of the mission, could you call him that?"

Rose looked surprised and Raiden felt like a child among adults, talking about him like he wasn't around. He decided to occupy himself and look around to see if there were any weapons he could use.

"Yes, sir," Rose said. "All right…" She hesitated. "…Raiden. Let me know if anything important happens. My frequency is 140.96." The frequency dial on Raiden's wrist suddenly turned and displayed Rose's frequency instead of the Colonel's and the Colonel's face faded from Raiden's view. "I just switched frequencies," she explained. "Jack?"

Raiden gave up on his search for weapons. There were none as far as he could see. He concentrated on Rose's image. "What?"

"Do you know what day tomorrow is?"

"April thirtieth," Raiden said with a shrug. "Is there something special about it?"

"Isn't there?"

Oh great, he thought, _women mind games. I'll have to be careful…_ "I can't remember. Sorry." Too late, he realized that was the wrong thing to say.

"Oh well, I'll keep trying until I hear the answer. I'm going to let you go now, Jack. Take care." She signed off and her image disappeared from view. The radar screen remained, however and Raiden inspected it, although he could have just looked around at his surroundings since the room was small enough.

He looked over his shoulder and saw one of the enemy sentries move. He groaned in pain and slowly brought a gloved hand to his forehead. Before he could fully awaken, Raiden stepped around him and ducked behind a chest-high pile of crates in the corner of the room. He peeked around the crates and saw the sentry stand up, holding his head in one hand while cradling his rifle in the other. He reached behind him for his radio, but Raiden rushed at him. Before the guard could so much as gasp, Raiden's metal-plated elbow smashed into his face with the dull sound of metal hitting flesh. The guard dropped his radio and his gun and flew back through the air. He hit the concrete floor hard and stayed there, unconscious once more.

The elevator came down at that moment, settling into the concrete with a harsh grating sound. The doors opened and the call device in the wall beeped. Raiden stepped over the unconscious sentry and walked into the large elevator. He hit the "Up" button and when the doors closed and the elevator began to ascend, the other guard woke up.

Before the elevator carried him too far up, Raiden heard the guard say, in a thick Russian accent, "What the hell just happened?"

Raiden reached behind him and pulled up on his diving mask, releasing more of his nearly white hair from its imprisonment. He placed the mask on the floor of the elevator and shook his head to throw the clinging drops of water from his hair. He had bright blue eyes a very pale complexion from a lack of outdoors training and spending a lot of time in VR training and studying his books. When he did go out, it was usually at night and with Rose by his side.

The Colonel signed onto the Codec without so much as a greeting or a warning. "The terrorists call themselves 'The Sons of Liberty.'"

"Sons of Liberty?" Raiden repeated, confused.

"The name of their leader is Solid Snake."

Raiden looked up at the bright morning sky above him. As the elevator ascended, the light grew brighter and over the sounds grinding of gears and the elevator's motors, he could hear the cry of seagulls.

"The hero of Shadow Moses?" Raiden asked. This was just getting worse by the minute. "So that's why you changed my code name."

The elevator reached the top and came to a sudden, jarring halt. The waist-high gate at the front slid into the floor to allow the rider to get off. Bright sunlight stabbed into Raiden's eyes, a sudden change from the underwater docks and the ocean. Without the orange goggles over his eyes, he could see his surroundings in their true colors. He was standing on top of the strut – Strut A – and surrounded by randomly placed crates and boxes. Seagulls flew over head, calling out harshly to one another.

"Right," the Colonel said. "But it can't be _the_ Solid Snake. He died two years ago, on that tanker after he blew it sky-high."

Raiden looked down at the concrete he was standing on. In a sense, this was Solid Snake's grave marker, a huge headstone to remember the legendary hero. Raiden had read everything there was about Solid Snake and came to idolize the man, although he had never before met him. His dream had been to meet him, but that had been taken away from him two years ago.

"Could he have survived?" Raiden asked nonetheless.

"Not a chance…"

Raiden suppressed a sigh and walked over to a stack of metal crates. He decided not to dwell on something that couldn't be helped. "Colonel," he said, "I'm on the roof. There are no sentries, but it would only take one to spot me in this light." He squinted up in the direction of the sun, frustrated at its brightness.

"You never had daylight VR training, after all," the Colonel replied. "Stay extra sharp until you can find a node to log in from."

"What about the commandos?" Raiden asked.

"SEAL Team 10 has landed on struts B and C."

"And the president?"

"Seems he was spotted on Strut B."

"Strut B?" Raiden looked out over the railing of the roof, towards the other struts jutting out of the dirty water far below. He had no idea which strut he was looking at or even which way to go. He regretted not studying the map closer.

"The Big Shell is comprised of Shells One and Two," the Colonel explained. "Each unit consists of a central core and six struts surrounding it."

Raiden formed a picture in his head and nodded. "So the whole thing is shaped like two hexagons connected end-on-end."

"Exactly. And you're on the roof of Strut A, Shell One at the moment." The Colonel glanced away for a moment, then back at Raiden. "First, get to a node. Log into the network."

Raiden nodded. "Got it." He switched off the Codec.

He concentrated on his radar. The satellites flying high in space above him would easily spot any sentries and relay that information to the Soliton radar but there was nothing as far as he could tell. He looked around and saw two fenced-in areas on either side of the rooftop, beyond which were automatic doors. Now if only he could get past the fencing.

One of the seagulls above freed its bowels and let a white dropping fall onto the rooftop near where Raiden was standing. Raiden flinched at the sound and glanced down at the metal underneath his feet. As he moved his head, he caught sight of a hole in the bottom of the fence to his left. It looked like he could squeeze past…

Raiden got down on his stomach and pushed himself forward. He could feel the rusted ends of the chain link fence grab and scratch at his back but none actually penetrated his suit or damaged his skin. In a few moments, he was past the fence and beside the door, which opened automatically for him. Beyond the door was a set of stairs, leading down into Strut A. Without a moment's hesitation, he walked down the stairs and into the darkness.

His mission had begun.


End file.
